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5 


GERVASE C ASTON EL 

/7 




THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


A. TALE. 

_ . . 0 : 

"V ^ , GAsl/w 

BY MRS. HENRY WOOD, 

u 1 

AUTHOR OF “EAST LYNNE,” “MRS. HALLIBURTON’S TROUBLES.” THE “HEIR 
TO ASHLEY,” “CASTLE WAFER,” ETC. 








NEW YORK: f 

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CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 


Pag a 


How the new surgeon came to the village of Ebury to settle, and of another strange person 2 1 


CHAPTER n. 

About the engagement of the new surgeon to the old surgeon’s niece 

CHAPTER III. 

Of the old man’s presentiments, and some mysterious remarks of the younger man 

CHAPTER IY. 

Mrs. Muff dreams, and the dream comes out more than dreams generally do 

CHAPTER Y. 

Of the strange woman at Beech Lodge, and the strange scene going on there . 

CHAPTER YI. 

Miss Ellen and her lover, and the coming downfall of a young lady’s hopes 


* 

22 

2 ? 

29 

33 

35 


CHAPTER YII. 

The mysterious resident of Beech Lodgo hires a spy, who seems likely to be of little value 37 

CHAPTER YIII. 

Two gentlemen seem to have no very good opinion of the hero of tho story . . .38 

CHAPTER IX. 

Mr. Castonel astonishes his housekeeper with a communication, but astonishes Mr. Leices- 
ter still more without one 40 

CHAPTER X. 

“ When the cat is away, the mice will play” — and a tiger is a species of cat . . .42 


CHAPTER XI. 

The wife has a premonition of her fate. — A fulfilled presentiment 


43 


CHAPTER XII. 

Another stranger comes to Ebury, and seems to be on the look-out for information . . 48 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A mysterious interview between two mysterious persons 

CHAPTER XIY. 

The coming of the new curate, and his private engagement 


49 


50 


20 


CONTENTS. 


CITAPTER XV. 

Mary Shipley tries to melt the heart of Mr. Castonel 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Which tells how the curate flew in the flame, and got singed, and of the fate of a babe, 
with something of two love-scenes . . . . • • • 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Of a tap-room conversation, and a hypothetical case put forward by the blacksmith . 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Oi a silly mother’s display, and how the surgeon, this time, makes a grand wedding 

CHAPTER XIX 

The betrayed girl finds assistance for revenge upon her wronger 

CHAPTER XX. 

Which tells of another singular midnight dream, in Christmas times . . . . * 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Wherein the mysterious stranger finds it profitable to buy a live tiger .... 

CHAPTER XXII. 

An old doctor returns to Ebury, to the annoyance of Mr. Castonel 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Wherein the third wife yields to the fate of her predecessors 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Of the burial, and the crowd, and the public indignation 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Suspicion and distrust enter the mind of a bereaved father .... 


Page 
. 52 


54 


• • 


60 


62 


65 


66 


69 


71 


74 


78 


79 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

The mysterious stranger undertakes to excite suspicion still further. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The interview in the laboratory, and the strange secret drawer 


82 


85 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

The mysterious stranger has an interview with Mr. Castonel, and an eclair cissement , which 

is only clear to the two .90 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
Wherein the fox is run to earth at last . . . . 


. 91 


GERVASE CASTONEL; 


OR, 

THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


CHAPTER L 

HOW THE NEW SURGEON CAME TO THE 

VILLAGE OF EBURY TO SETTLE, AND 

OF ANOTHER STRANGE PERSON. 

A powerful sensation was created 
one day in the village of Ebury, by a 
report that somebody had taken the 
long-uninhabited house, with the stone 
balcony and green verandah, which was 
situate in the centre of the street. 

Who could have hired it? the whole 
village were asking, one of another. 
Those cousins of the Smiths ? or the 
people who had come on a visit to the 
Hall, and professed to like Ebury so 
well? No, none of these; it was a 
stranger from London, quite unknown 
to everybody : for there soon appeared 
a shining zinc plate on the newly-var- 
nished oak door bearing in large, to-be- 
read-at-a-great-distance-off-letters, “ Mr. 
Gervase Castonel. Consulting Sur- 
geon.” 

Ebury was in an ecstasy. A fash- 
ionable doctor was what the place 
wanted above all things; as to Win- 
ninton, he was nothing but an apothe- 
cary, old now, and stupid. Only three 
days before (so the tale went round the 
whist-tables), when he was called in to 
Mrs. Major Acre, an elderly dowager, 
he had the insolence to tell her he could 
do her little good ; that if she would 
eat less and walk more, she would not 
want a doctor. They had put up with 
Winninton, especially when he had 


his young and agreeable partner, a gen- 
tleman of fortune and position, who had 
joined him some time before. But this 
gentleman’s wife had fallen into ill 
health, which had caused him to quit 
Ebury, and seek a warmer climate. 

Mr. Gervase Castonel arrived, and 
took possession of his residence. You 
all know how fond we are apt to be of 
fresh faces, but you cannot know how 
rapturously fond Ebury at once grew 
of his. And yet, to a dispassionate ob- 
server, it was not a prepossessing face ; 
it was silent, pale, and unfathomable, 
with a gray, impenetrable eye that dis- 
liked to look at you, and dark hair. 
They tried to guess his age : some said 
five-and-twenty, some thirty ; it is most 
probable he was near the latter, a small- 
made man, of middle height. 

Poor Mr. Winninton ! he had at- 
tended Ebury and the county round for 
forty years, walking unostentatiously on 
his two legs, and never, unless the dis- 
tance was really beyond them, using a 
horse or carriage, and then it was bor- 
rowed or hired. But he had to wit- 
ness the debut of Mr. Castonel in a 
stylish cab with a tiger behind it ; both 
of the newest London importation ; Mr. 
Castonel’s arms being emblazoned on 
the cab, and Mr. Castonel’s taste on the 
boy’s dress. He never stirred a pro- 
fessional yard without this cab : did a 
patient at the next door call him in, the 
cab took him there. Generally the boy 
would be hoisted up, holding on by the 
back straps, after the approved manner 


22 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


of tigers ; sometimes, when it was Mr. 
Castonel’s pleasure not to drive him- 
self, he sat by his master’s side and took 
the reins. Miv Castonel had a habit of 
sitting very back in his cab, and the lad 
also, so that when its head was up they 
were invisible ; and in this way the cab 
would go dashing at a fierce rate up 
and down the street. Until Ebury be- 
came familiar with this peculiarity, it 
was the cause of no end of terror ; the 
pedestrians believing that the spirited 
horse, without a guide, was making for 
their unfortunate bodies. Two of these 
horses were possessed by Mr. Castonel, 
fine, valuable animals, and one or other 
was always to be seen, with the cab be- 
hind him. Sure never did a stranger 
fall into so extensive a practice (to judge 
by appearances), as did Mr. Gervase 
Castonel. 

The first patient he was summoned 
to was Mrs. Major Acre. It may be 
observed that a family in Ebury wrote 
a note of invitation to Mrs. Major Acre 
and omitted the “ Major.” She at 
once returned the letter, with an inti- 
mation that Mrs. Major Acre declined 
acquaintance with them : so we will 
take care not to fall under 'a similar 
calamity. Mr. Castonel was called in 
to Mrs. Major Acre, and she was 
charmed with him. He sympathized 
so feelingly with her ailments \ but as- 
sured her that in a little time, under 
his treatment, she would not have a 
symptom left. That horrid Winnin- 
ton, she imparted to him, had told her 
she wanted nothing but walking and 
fasting. Oh, as to Winninton, Mr. 
Castonel rejoined, with a contemptuous 
curl of his wire-drawn, impenetrable 
lips, what could be expected of an 
apothecary ? He (Mr. Castonel) hoped 
soon to leave no patients to the mercy 
of him. And this was repeated by 
Mrs. Major Acre wherever she went : 
and she took care to go everywhere to 
laud the praises of the consulting sur- 
geon : so that people almost longed for 
a tender fit of illness, that they might 
put themselves under the bland and fos- 
tering care of Mr. Castonel. 

Nor was there only one house taken, 
nor only one stranger who had come to 


settle in Ebury. At the same time, a 
lady, attended by one female servant, 
— a young and handsome lady, it was 
said, became the tenant of Beech Lodge. 
Her name no one knew, her business 
was no one’s business. She lived se- 
cluded — declined visitors, and rarely if 
ever stirred out. It was not until some 
time afterward that it was found that 
she was an acquaintance — a family con- 
nection, he carelessly observed — of the 
new surgeon. Gossip kept a sharp scru- 
tiny on the couple, but even gossip 
could make nothing out. The new- 
come lady was circumspect — rather 
haughtily so, however ; and except the 
fact of her seclusion, which was highly * 
censurable in such a place as Ebury, 
she gave no offence. Gossip would 
have grown tired of her, and turned its 
attention to some one else, and did 
when any one else came, but in default 
of new matter, the mysterious lady at 
Beech Lodge gave rise to the most 
earnest conjecture, and served as a 
standing dish at the Ebury tea-tables. 


CHAPTER II. 

ABOUT THE ENGAGEMENT OF THE NEW 
SURGEON TO THE OLD SURGEON’S 
NIECE. 

Time goes on with us all, and it 
did with Ebury. In six months not a 
single patient remained with Mr. Win- 
ninton ; all had flown to Mr. Gervase 
Castonel : for that gentleman, in spite 
of his flaring zinc plate, proved to be a 
general practitioner. We must except 
one or two intimate friends of Mr. Win- 
ninton’ s ; and we must except the poor, 
those who could not pay. Mr. Castonel 
had made an ostentatious announcement 
that he should give advice gratis from 
nine to ten o clock on Tuesdays and 
Fridays, but the few poor who accepted 
the invitation found him so repellant 
and unsympathizing, that they were 
thankful to return to kind old Mr. Win- 
ninton, who had not only attended 
them without charge at their own 
homes, but had done much toward sup- 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


23 


plying their bodily wants. Mr. Win- 
ninton had been neglectful of gain ; per- 
haps his having no family rendered him 
so. He had never married, he and his 
sister having always lived together : but 
just before her death, a niece, Caroline 
Hall, then left an orphan, came home 
to them. To describe his affection for 
this girl would be impossible : it may 
be questioned if Caroline returned it as 
it deserved — but when is the love of 
the aged for the young ever repaid in 
kind? The pleasure and delights of 
visiting filled her heart, and her uncle’s 
home and society were only regarded 
as things to be escaped from. Was he 
yet awake to this? There was some- 
thing worse for him to awake to, by- 
and-by, something that as yet he sus- 
pected not. He was much changed : 
had been changing ever since the estab- 
lishment in Ebury of Mr. Castonel : 
his face had acquired a gray cast like 
his hair, his merry tongue was hushed, 
and people said he looked as if his heart 
were breaking. It is hard to bear in- 
gratitude : ingratitude from those with 
whom we have lived for sixty years. 
It was not for the value of the practice : 
no, no : he had that which would last 
him his life, and leave something be- 
hind him : but it was the unkindness, 
that was telling upon Mr. Winninton, 
the desertion of him for a stranger, one 
in reality less skilled than he was. 

Frances Chavasse stood in her moth- 
er’s drawing-room, and, with her, the 
daughter of the Rector of Ebury, the 
Reverend Christopher Leicester. Ellen 
Leicester had come in after dinner to 
spend the afternoon ; for Ebury, though 
it called itself an aristocratic place, usu- 
ally dined in the middle of the day. 
They were both lovely girls, about nine- 
teen, though unlike in feature as in dis- 
position. They were called the beauties 
of Ebury. Caroline Hall got classed 
with them also, but it arose from her 
constantly associating with them, not 
from her good looks. She was two or 
three years older, had a sallow face 
with dark hair, and lively, pleasant 
dark eyes. An absurd story had gone 
abroad, but died away again : that Mr. 
Castonel, upon being asked which of 


the three was most to his taste, replied 
that only one of them was, but he’d 
marry the three, for all that. 

The two young ladies were talking 
eagerly, for Mrs. Major Acre had just 
paid them a visit, and disclosed a piece 
of intelligence which completely as- 
tounded her hearers — that Miss Hall 
was about to be married to Mr. Casto- 
nel. 

“It is impossible that it can be 
true,” Mrs. Chavasse and her daughter 
had exclaimed in the same quick, posi- 
tive, eager tone, for they were the coun- 
terpart of each other in manner. “ Old 
Winninton hates Mr. Castonel like poi- 
son.” 

“ I know he does. And I was told 
it was for that very reason Mr. Castonel 
is bent upon having her,” said Mrs. 
Major ; “ that he may mortify the old 
apothecary, and take from him the 
only treasure he has left — Caroline.” 

“ Oh, that’s all Ebury gossip,” de- 
cided Mrs. Chavasse. “ A well-estab- 
lished man like Mr. Castonel will take 
care to marry according to his fancy, 
not to gratify pique. Mr. Winninton 
will never give his consent.” 

“Tie has given it,” answered the 
major’s widow. “ Caroline’s will is 
law, there. I wish she may find it so 
in her new home.” 

“ Well,” added Mrs. Chavasse, dubi- 
ously, “ I don’t know that Mr. Castonel 
is altogether the man I should choose 
to give a daughter to. Such curious 
things are said of him — about that mys- 
terious person, you know.” 

“ Grapes are sour,” thought Mrs. 
Major Acre to herself. “ And now I 
have told you the news, I must go,’ 1 
she said, rising. “ Good-by to you all. 
My compliments at the parsonage, my 
dear Miss Ellen.” 

Mrs. Chavasse went out with the 
lady, and it happened that immediately 
afterward Caroline Hall entered. El- 
len and Frances regarded her with a 
curiosity they had never yet manifested, 
and Frances spoke impulsively. 

“ How sly you are over it, Caroline ! 
— Now, don’t go to deny it, or you’ll 
put me in a temper. We know all 
about it, just as much as yourself. If 


24 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


you chose to keep it from others, you 
might have told Ellen and me.” 

“ How could I tell you what I did 
not know myself?” 

“ Nav, Caroline, you must have 
known it,” interposed the sweet, gentle 
voice of Ellen Leicester. 

“ I did not know I was going to be 
married. You might have seen there 
was” — she hesitated and blushed — “ an 
attachment between myself and Mr. 
Castonel, if your eyes had been open.” 

“ I declare I never saw any thing that 
eould cause me to think he was at- 
tached to you,” abruptly uttered Miss 
Chavassc, looking at her. 

“ Nor I,” repeated Ellen Leicester. 
And the young ladies spoke truly. 

“ I may have seen you talking to- 
gether in evening society, perhaps even 
gone the length of a little dash of flirta- 
tion,” said Miss Chavasse. “ But what 
has that to do with marriage ? Every- 
body flirts. I shall have a dozen flirta- 
tions before I settle down to marry.” 

“ That all depends upon the dispo- 
sition,” returned Miss Hall. “ You 
may, but Ellen Leicester never will.” 

“Ellen dare not,” laughed Frances. 
“ She would draw down the old walls 
of the parsonage about her ears if she 
committed so heinous a sin. But I 
must return to what I said, Caroline 
Hall, that it was unfriendly not to let 
us know it.” 

“ The puzzle is, how you know it 
now,” observed Caroline. “ The inter- 
view, when Mr. Castonel asked my 
uncle for me, only took place last night, 
and I have not spoken of it to any 
one.” 

“ Oh, news travels fast enough in 
Ebury,” answered Frances, carelessly. 
“ If I were to cut my finger now, every 
house would know it before to-night. 
Mr. Winninton may have mentioned 
it.” 

“I am quite sure that it has not 
passed his lips.” 

44 Then the report must have come 
from Mr. Castonel ?” exclaimed Frances. 
“ How very strange !” 

“ My uncle is not well to-day,” added 
Miss Hall, “ and has seen no one. He 
has got a great fire made up in the 


drawing-room, and is stewing himself 
close to it. The room’s as hot as an 
oven.” 

“ A fire, this weather !” repeated 
Frances. “What is the matter with 
him ?” 

“ Nothing particular that I know of. 
He sits and sighs, and never speaks. 
He only spoke once between breakfast 
and dinner : and that was to ask me 
if I felt Mr. Castonel was a man cal- 
culated to make me happy. Of course 
he is.” 

“ Caroline,” -whispered Miss Leices- 
ter, “ do you not fear it is your mar- 
riage that is preying on his spirits ?” 

“ I know it is. He would not con- 
sent for a long while. The interview 
was any thing but agreeable. He and 
Mr. Castonel were together at first, and 
then I was called in. At last he gave 
it. But he does not like Mr. Castonel. 
I suppose from his having taken his 
practice from him.” 

“ A very good reason too,” said Miss 
Chavasse, bluntly. 

“ Ok. I don’t know,” carelessly re- 
turned Caroline. “ It is all luck in this 
world. If people persist in sending for 
Gervase, he can’t refuse to go. My 
uncle is old now.” 

Ellen Leicester looked up, reproach 
seated in her deep blue eyes. But 
Caroline Hall resumed : 

“ It is more than dislike that be has 
taken to Mr. Castonel; it is prejudice. 
He cried like a child after Gervase was 
gone, saying he would rather I had 
chosen any one else in the world ; he 
had rather I had kept single for life, 
than marry Mr. Castonel. And Muff 
says she heard him sobbing and groan- 
ing on his pillow all night long.” 

“And oh, Caroline,” exclaimed Ellen 
Leicester, in a shocked, hushed tone, 
“ can you think of marrying him now ?” 

“ My uncle has consented,” said Caro- 
line, evasively. 

“Yes; but in what way? If you 
have any spark of dutiful feeling, you 
will now prove your gratitude to your 
uncle for all his love and care of you.” 

“ Prove it, how ?” 

“ By giving up Mr. Castonel.” 

Caroline Hall turned and looked at 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


25 


her, then spoke impressively, “ It is 
easy to talk, Ellen Leicester, but when 
the time comes for you to love, and 
should he be unacceptable to your pa- 
rents, you will then understand how im- 
possible is what you ask of me. That 
calamity may come.” 

“ Never,” was the almost scornful 
reply of Miss Leicester. “ My father 
and mother’s wishes will ever be first 
with me.” 

“ I tell you, you know nothing about 
it,” repeated Caroline. “ Remember 
my words hereafter.” 

“ Do not cavil about what you will 
never agree upon,” interrupted Miss 
Chavasse. “ When is the wedding to 
be, Caroline?” 

“ I suppose almost immediately. So 
Mr. Castonel wishes.” 

“ He is not so great a favorite in the 
place as he was when he first came. 
People also say that he is a general ad- 
mirer. So take care, Caroline.” 

“ I know few people with whom he 
is not a favorite,” retorted Caroline, 
warmly. “ My uncle is one ; Mr. Leices- 
ter, I believe, is another. Are there 
any more ?” 

u You need not take me up so sharp- 
lv,” laughed Frances. “ I only repeated 
what I have heard. Take your things 
off, Caroline, and remain to tea.” 

Caroline Hall hesitated. “ My uncle 
is so lonely. Still,” she added, after a 
pause, “ I can do him no good, and as 
to trying to raise his spirits, it’s a hope- 
less task. Yes, I will stay, Frances.” 

She was glad to accept any excuse to 
get away from the home she had so 
little inclination for, utterly regardless 
of the lonely hours of the poor old man. 
Frances, careless and pleased, hastened 
to help her off with her things. But 
Ellen Leicester, more considerate, pain- 
fully reproached her in her heart of 
hearts. 

Mr. Castonel found his way that 
evening to the house of Mr. Chavasse. 
Soon after he came, Mrs. Chavasse, who 
was in her garden, saw the rector pass. 
She went to the gate, and leaned over 
it to shake hands with him. 

“Have you heard the news?” she 
asked, being one who was ever ready to 


retail gossip. “ Caroline Hall is going 
to be married.” 

“ Indeed !” he answered, in an accent 
of surprise. “ I have been much at 
Mr. Winninton’s lately, and have heard 
nothing of it.” 

“ She marries Mr. Castonel.” 

There was a pause. The clergyman 
seemed as if unable to comprehend the 
words. “ Mrs. Chavasse, I hope you 
are under a mistake,” he said at last. 
“ I think you are.” 

“ No ; it was all settled yesterday 
with old Winninton. Caroline told me 
so herself: she and Mr. Castonel are 
both here now.” 

“ I am grieved to hear it ! Mr. Castonel 
is not the man I would give a child to.” 

“ That’s just what I said. Will you 
walk in ?” 

“ Not now. I will call for Ellen by- 
and-by.” 

“ Not before nine,” said Mrs. Cha- 
vasse. 

There were those in Ebury who had 
called Mr. Castonel an attractive man, 
but I think it would have puzzled them 
to tell in what his attractions lay. He 
was by no means good-looking; though 
perhaps not what could be called plain : 
one peculiarity of his, was, that he hated 
music; and in society he was silent, 
rather than otherwise. Yet he generally 
found favor with the ladies: they are 
pretty certain to like one who has the 
reputation of being a general admirer. 
Had a stranger, that evening, been pres- 
ent in the drawing-room of Mrs. Cha- 
vasse, he would not have suspected Mr. 
Castonel was on the point of marriage 
with Miss Hall, for his gallant attentions 
to Frances Chavasse and Ellen Leices- 
ter — his evident admiration for both, 
were inconsistently apparent — especial- 
ly considering the presence of Caroline. 
What she thought, it is impossible to 
say. She left early, and Mr. Castonel 
attended her as far as her home. 

Mr. Leicester had taken his way to 
the house of Mr. Winninton. The sur- 
geon was cowering over the fire, as Car- 
oline had described. He shook hands 
with Mr. Leicester without rising, and 
pointed in silence to a chair. He looked 
very ill ; scarcely able to speak. 


26 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


“I have heard some tidings about 
Caroline,” began the rector. 

Mr. Winninton groaned. “ Oh, my 
friend, my pastor,” he said, “I have 
need of strong consolation under this 
affliction.” 

“ You disapprove, no doubt, of Mr. 
Castonel ?” 

“Disapprove!” he repeated, roused 
to energy ; “ believe me, I would rather 
Caroline went before me, than leave her 
the wife of Gervase Castonel.” 

“ Then why have you consented ?” 

“ I had no help for it,” he sadly ut- 
tered. “ They were before me, in this 
room, both of them, and they told me 
they only cared for each other. Mr. 
Castonel informed me that if I refused 
my consent it was of little consequence, 
for he should take her without it. She 
is infatuated with him : and how and 
where they can have met so frequently, 
as it appears they have done, is a won- 
der to me. Oh, he is of mean, dishon- 
orable spirit ! And I have my doubts 
about his liking her — liking her, even.” 

“ Then why should he seek to marry 
her ?” cried the rector, in surprise. 

“ I know not. I have been thinking 
about it all night and all day, and can 
come to no conclusion. Save one,” he 
added, dropping his voice, “ which is 
firm upon me, and will not leave me : 
the conviction that he will not treat her 
well. Would you,” he asked, suddenly 
looking up, “ would you give him El- 
len ?” 

“ No,” most emphatically replied Mr. 
Leicester. “ I believe him to be a bad, 
immoral man. My calling takes me con- 
tinually amongst the poor, and I can 
tell you Mr. Castonel is much more 
warmly welcomed by the daughters than 
the parents. But nothing tangible has 
hitherto been brought against him. He 
is a deep man.” 

*“ His covert behavior as to Caroline, 
proves his depth. What about that 
strange person who followed him to 
Ebury, and took the little lodge? You 
know what I mean.” 

“ I can learn nothing of her,” answer- 
ed Mr. Leicester. “ She lives on, there, 
with that female attendant. I called 
once, but she told me she must beg to 


decline my visits, as she wished to live 
in strict retirement. I suppose I should 
not have seen her at all, but the other 
person was out, and she came to the 
door.” 

“ I met her once,” said Mr. Winnin- 
ton. “ She is very handsome.” 

“Too handsome and too young to be 
living in so mysterious a way,” re- 
marked the rector, significantly. “ She 
has evidently been reared as a gentle- 
woman : her accent and manner are per- 
fectly ladylike and refined. Did you 
mention her to Mr. Castonel ?” 

“ I did. And he answered in an in- 
different, haughty manner, that the lady 
was a connection of his own family, who 
chose, for reasons of her own, good and 
upright, though they were kept secret, 
to pass her days just now in retirement. 
He added, that her character was unim- 
peachable, and no one, to him, should 
dare impugn it. What could I answer ?” 

“ Very true. And it may be as he 
says : though the circumstances wear so 
suspicious an appearance.” 

“ Oh, that he had never come to Eb- 
ury !” exclaimed the surgeon, clasping 
his hands with emotion. “ Not for the 
injury he has done to me professionally : 
and I believe striven to do, for there 
was room for us both : I have forgiven 
him this with all my heart, as it be- 
comes a Christian near the grave to do. 
But my conviction tells me he is a bad 
man, a mysterious man — yes, my friend, 
I repeat it, a mysterious man — I feel 
him to be so, though it is an assertion 
I cannot explain; and I feel that he will 
assure Caroline’s misery instead of hap- 
piness.” 

“ Still, unless he is attached to her, I 
do not see why he should wed her,” re- 
peated the rector. “ She has no fortune 
to tempt his cupidity.” 

_ “ Nor do I see it,” replied Mr. Win- 
ninton. “ But it is so.” 

Mr. Leicester sat there an hour, and 
then proceeded to visit some cottages. 
On his return, he cut across the fields, 
a near way, for he found it was getting 
dusk, and close upon the time he in- 
tended to call for Ellen. As he passed 
the corner of Beech Wood, a retired 
spot just there, near to the pretty, but 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


27 


very small lodge originally built for a 
gamekeeper, who should he suddenly 
encounter but its present inmate, the 
lady he and Mr. Winninton had been 
speaking of. Her arm was within Mr. 
Castonel’s, and she was talking rapidly, 
in a tone as it seemed, of remonstrance. 
The gentlemen bowed as they passed 
each other; both coldly ; and had Mr. 
Leicester turned to scan the doctor’s 
face, he would have seen on it a sneer 
of malignant triumph. 

“ I never saw a case more open to 
suspicion in my life,” muttered the cler- 
gyman to himself. “ And he just come 
from the presence of his wife, that is to 
be!” 


CHAPTER III. 

OF THE OLD MAN’S PRESENTIMENTS, AND 

SOME MYSTERIOUS REMARKS OF THE 

YOUNGER MAN. 

“Come, Hannah, look alive,” cried 
Mrs. Muff, some two months subsequent 
to the above details ; wash those decan- 
ters first: there’s one short, but I’ll see 
to that. Now, you need not touch the 
knives: Jem will clean them all in the 
morning. 13o as I bid you, and then get 
out and dust the best china.” 

“There’s the door bell,” said Han- 
nah. 

“ Go and answer it, and don’t be an 
hour over it. I dare say it’s the man 
with the potted meats. Tell him the 
rolls must be here in the morning by 
ten o’clock.” 

A most valuable personage was Mrs. 
Muff in her vocation, and highly respect- 
ed throughout Ebury. An upright, 
portly, kindly-looking woman, of four 
or five-and-fifty, with an auburn “front,” 
whose curls were always scrupulously 
smooth. She had for many years held 
the important situation of housekeeper 
at the Hall : but changes had occurred 
there, as they do in many places. On 
the death of Mr. Winninton’s sister, she 
had accepted the post of housekeeper to 
him, and had been there ever since. 
Hannah, a damsel of twenty, being un- 
der her. 


“Well, was it the baker?” she de- 
manded, as Hannah returned to the 
kitchen. 

“ No, ma’am. It was another wed- 
ding present for Miss Caroline, with 
Mrs. Major Acre’s compliments. I took 
it up to her : she’s in the drawing-room 
with Mr. Castonel.” 

“ Ah !” groaned the housekeeper. — 
“ Look at the dust on those glasses, 
Hannah. I thought you said you had 
wiped them.” 

“ And what harm, ma’am, either ?” 
returned Hannah, who understood very 
well the nature of the groan. “ She’d 
be his wife to-morrow.” 

“ Who said there was harm ?” sharply 
retorted Mrs. Muff. “ Only — my poor 
master ! — he is so lonely, and it is the 
last evening she’ll be here. Where are 
you running off to, now ? I told you to 
finish the decanters.” 

“ Master called out for some coal as 
I passed the parlor,” answered Hannah. 
“The puzzle to me is, how he can bear 
a fire, this sultry August weather.” 

“ Ah, child, you’ll come to the end 
of many puzzles before you arrive at my 
years. Master’s old and chilly, and 
breaking up as fast as he can break. I’ll 
take the coal in myself.” 

Mr. Winninton did not look up, as 
the housekeeper put the coal on. But 
afterwards, when she w r as busy at the 
sideboard, he called out in a sudden, 
quick tone — “ Mrs. Muff.” 

“ Sir ?” she answered. 

“ What are you doing there ?” 

“ I am changing the sherry wine, sir, 
into the odd decanter. We want this 
one to put ready with the others.” 

“ For the show to-morrow ?” he went 
ou. 

“ To be sure, sir. For nothing else.” 

“ Ay, Muff, put every thing in order,” 
he continued. “Don’t let it be said 
that I opposed any of their wishes ; an 
old man like I am, whom they would 
be glad to see out of the world. And 
you need not trouble yourself to put 
things up afterwards : they will be want- 
ed again.” 

“ For what purpose, sir ?” she in- 
quired. 

“ For the funeral.” 


28 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


Mrs. Muff, as she said afterwards, was 
struck all of a heap. And Mr. Winnin- 
ton resumed : 

“ After a wedding comes a burying. 
She is beginning the cares of life, and I 
am giving them up forever. And some- 
thing tells me she will have her share of 
them. I shall not be here to stand by 
her, Muff, so you must.” 

The housekeeper trembled as she 
heard. He had a queer look on his 
face that she did not like. 

“I’ll do what I can, sir,” she said. 

“ But when Miss Caroline has left here, 
that will be but little.” 

“You can go where she goes, Muff.” 

“ Perhaps not, sir.” 

“ Perhaps yes. Will you promise to 
do so if you can — if any possible way is 
open ? Promise me,” he added, eagerly 
and feverishly. 

“ Well, sir,” she answered, to humor 
him, “ if it shall be agreeable to all par- 
ties, yes, I will.” 

“ And you will shield her from him, 
as far as you can ?” 

“Yes,” repeated the housekeeper, 
most imperfectly understanding what 
Caroline was to be shielded from. 

“ Now, Mrs. Muff,” he concluded, in 
a solemn tone, “ that’s a death bargain. 
Remember it.” 

“You don’t seem well, sir,” was Mrs. 
Muff’s rejoinder. “ Shall I call Miss 
Caroline to you ?” 

“ No,” he sadly answered. “ Let her 
be.” 

She was in the drawing-room with 
Mr. Castonel, as has been stated ; laugh- 
ing, talking, joking, unmindful of her 
fond uncle, who was dying underneath. 
Her dress, was a cool summer muslin, 
very pretty, with its open sleeves, her 
dark hair was worn in bands, and her 
dark eyes were animated. She began 
showing him some of the presents she 
had received that day, and slipped a 
bracelet on her arm to display it. 

“That is an elegant bracelet,” ob- 
served Mr. Castonel. “ Who is it from ?” 

“ Ellen Leicester.” 

“ Oh,” he hastily rejoined, “ I heard 
it said to-day that she is not going to 
church with you — that the parson’s 
starch will not let her.” 


“It is true,” said Caroline. I did 
not tell you of it, Gervase, because I 
thought it might annoy you, as it had 
done me.” 

“ Annoy me ! Oh dear no. Let me 
hear what his objections were : what he 
said.” 

“I only gathered the substance of 
them from Mrs. Leicester. You know 
my uncle does not approve our union, 
though he did give his consent. So on 
that score, I believe, Mr. Leicester de- 
clined to allow Ellen to be one of my 
bridesmaids — that he would not directly 
sanction what he was pleased to call an 
un dutiful measure.” 

“ I wonder he condescends to marry 
us,” remarked Mr. Castonel, with that 
peculiar sneer, cunning and malignant, 
on his face, which even Caroline disliked 
to see. 

“ That he could not refuse. It is in 
his line of duty. Ellen is so vexed. 
We three had always promised each 
other that the two left would be brides- 
maids to whichever was married first, 
I, Ellen, and Frances Chavasse.” 

Mr. Castonel laughed, a strange, ring- 
ing laugh, as if something amused him 
much ; and Caroline looked at him in 
s'urprise. 

The wedding-day dawned; not too 
promisingly. In the first place, the 
fine, brilliant weather had suddenly 
changed, and the day rose pouring wet. 
In the second, Mr. Winninton, who, 
however, had never intended to go to 
church with them, was too ill to rise. 
Miss Chavasse was bridesmaid, and by 
half-past ten, Gervase Castonel and Car- 
oline Hall had been united for better, for 
worse, until death did them part. Next 
came the breakfast, the Rev. Mr. Leices- 
ter, who had officiated, declining to go 
and partake of it, and then the bride 
and bridegroom started off in a carriage- 
and-four to spend a short honeymoon. 
Before they returned, Mr. Winninton 
was dead. 

A very singular remark was made by 
Mr. Castonel, on his return, when he 
was iuformed of his former rival’s death. 
It was the tiger, John, who mentioned 
it. 

“ Dead, is he !” said Mr, Castone 1 


THK SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


29 


thoughtfully. “ I did not want him to 
die — just yet.” 

What did he mean by “just yet ?” 


CHAPTER IV. 

MRS. MUFF DREAMS, AND THE DREAM 

COMES OUT MORE THAN DREAMS GEN- 
ERALLY DO. 

Again, reader, six months have 
elapsed, for time, as I told you, slipped 
on at Ebury as fast as it does at other 
places. No medical opponent had 
started, so Mr. Castonel had the pro- 
fessional swing of the whole place, and 
was getting on in it at railway speed. 
We are now in the cold, drizzly month 
of February, and it is a drizzling, dirty, 
wretched day. In the bright kitchen, 
however, of Mr. Castonel, little signs are 
seen of the outside weather. The fire 
burns clear, and the kettle sings on it, 
the square of carpet, never put down 
till the cooking is over, extends itself 
before the hearth, and good Mrs. Muff 
is presiding over all, her feet on a warm 
footstool, and her spectacles on nose, 
for she has drawn the stand before her 
on which rests her Bible. Presently a 
visitor came in, a figure clothed in trav- 
elling attire, limp and moist, introduced 
by the tiger, John, who had encountered 
it at the door, as he was going out on an 
errand for his master. 

“ My goodness me, Hannah ! it’s 
never you ?” 

“Yes, ma’am, it is,” was Hannah’s 
reply, with a very low obeisance to 
Mrs. Muff. 

“ And why did you not come yester- 
day, as w'as agreed upon ?” 

“ It rained so hard with us, mother 
said I had better wait ; but as to-day 
turned out little better, I came through 
it. She’d have paid for a inside place, 
ma’am, but the coach was full, so I came 
outside.” 

“Well, get off' your wet things, and 
we’ll have a cup of tea,” said Mrs. 
Muff, rising, and setting the tea-things. 

“ Mother sends her duty to you, 
ma’am,” said Hannah, as she sat down 


to the tea-table, after obeying directions, 
“ and bade me say she was kindly 
obliged to you for thinking of me and 
getting me a place under you again.” 

“ All ! we little thought some months 
back, that we should ever be serving 
Mr. Castonel.” 

“ Nothing was ever further from my 
thoughts, ma’am.” 

“ I wished to come and live with 
Miss Caroline ; I had my own reasons 
for it,” resumed Mrs. Muff; “and as 
luck had it, she had a breeze with the 
maids here, after she came home, and 
gave them both warning. I fancy they 
had done as they liked too long, under 
Mr. Castonel, to put up with the con- 
trol of a mistress, and Miss Caroline, if 
put out, can be pretty sharp and hasty. 
However, they were leaving, and I 
heard of it, and came after the place. 
Miss Caroline — dear! I mean Mrs. Casto- 
nel — thought I ought to look out for a 
superior one to hers, but said she should 
be too glad to take me if I did not 
think so. So here I came, and here I 
have been ; and when, a week ago, the 
girl under me misbehaved herself, I 
thought of you and spoke to mistress, 
so we sent for you. Now you know 
how it has all happened, Hannah.” 

“ Yes, ma’am, and thank you. Is 
Miss Caroline well ?” 

“ Mrs. Castonel,” interrupted the 
housekeeper. “ Did you not hear me 
correct myself? She is getting better.” 

“ Has she been ill ?” returned Han- 
nah. 

“ 111 ! I believe you. It was a near 
touch, Hannah, whether she lived or 
died.” 

“ What has been the matter, ma’am.” 

“A mis Never you mind what,” 

said the old lady, arresting her speech 
before the ominous word popped out, 
“ she has been ill, but is getting better ; 
and that’s enough. I’ll step up and ask 
if she wants any thing.” 

Hannah cast her eyes around the 
kitchen : it looked a very comfortable 
one, and she thought she should be 
happy enough in her new abode. Every 
thing was bright and clean to a fault, be- 
tokening two plain facts, the presiding 
genius of Mrs. Muff, and plenty of work 


30 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


for ’Hannah, who knew she should have 
to keep things as she found them. 

“ Mrs. Castonel will have some tea 
presently, not just yet,” said Mrs. Muft, 
returning, “ How ill she does look ! 
Her face has no more color in it than 
a corpse. It put me in mind of my 
dream.” 

“ Have you had a bad dream lately, 
ma’am ?” inquired Hannah. For there 
was not a more inveterate dreamer, or 
interpreter of dreams, than Mrs. Muft, 
*nd nothing loth was she to find a lis- 
tener for them. 

“ Indeed I have,” she answered, “ and 
a dream that I don’t like. It was just 
three nights ago. I had gone to bed, 
dead asleep, having been up part of 
several back nights with my mistress, 
and I undressed in no time, and was 
asleep as quick. All on a sudden, for I 
remembered no event that seemed to 
lead to it, I thought I saw my old mas- 
ter ” 

“ The squire ?” interrupted Hannah. 

“ Not the squire : what put him in 
your head ? Mr. Winninton. I thought 
I saw him standing at the foot of the 
bed, and after looking at me fixedly, as 
if to draw niy attention, he turned his 
head slowly towards the door. I heard 
the stairs creaking, as if somebody was 
coming up, step by step, and we both 
kept our eyes on the door, waiting in 
expectation. It began to move on its 
hinges, very slowly, and I was struck 
with horror, for who should appear at 
it but ” 

“ Ah-a-a-a-ah !” shrieked Hannah, 
whose feelings being previously wrought 
up to a shrieking pitch, received their 
climax, for at that very moment a loud' 
noise was heard outside the kitchen 
door, which was only pushed to, not 
closed. 

“ What a simpleton you be !” wrath- 
fullv exclaimed Mrs. Muff, who, how- 
ever, had edged her own chair into close 
contact with Hannah’s. “I dare say 
it is only master in his laboratory.” 

After the lapse of a few reassuring 
seconds, Mrs. Muff moved toward the 
door, looked out, and then went toward 
a small room contiguous to it, 

“ It is as I thought,” she said, com- 


ing back and closing the door ; “ it is 
master in his laboratory. Hut now that’s 
an odd thing,” she added, musingly. 

“ What is odd, ma’am ?” 

“ Why, liow master could have come 
down and gone in there without my 
hearing him. I left him sitting with 
mistress. Perhaps she has dozed off, 
she does sometimes at dusk, and he 
crept down softly, for fear of disturbing 
her.” 

“But what was the noise?” asked 
Hannah, breathlessly. 

“ Law, child ! d’ye fear it was a 
ghost ? It was only Mr. Castonel let 
fall one of the little drawers and it went 
down with a clatter. And that’s an- 
other odd thing, now I come to think 
of it, for I always believed that top 
drawer to be a dummy drawer. It has 
no lock and no knob, like the others.” 

“ What is a dummy drawer?” repeat- 
ed Hannah. 

“ A false drawer, child, one that 
won’t open. John thinks so too, for 
last Saturday, when he was cleaning 
the laboratory, I went in for some 
string to tie up the beef olives I was 
making for dinner. He was on the 
steps, stretching up his duster to that 
very drawer, and he called out, ‘ Thi3 
here drawer is just like your head, 
Madam Muff.’ 

“ ‘ How so ?’ asked I. 

“ ‘ Cause he has got nothing in the 
inside of him,’ said he, in his impudent 
way, and rushed off the steps into the 
garden, fearing I should box his ears. 
But it is this very drawer master has 
now let fall, and there were two oi 
three little papers and phials, I saw, 
scattered on the floor. I was stepping 
in, asking if I could help him to pick 
them up, but he looked at me as 
black as thunder, and roared out, 

‘ No. Go away and mind your own 
business.’ Didn’t you hear him ?” 

“ I heard a man’s voice,” replied 
Hannah ; “ I did not know it was Mr. 
Castonel’s. But about the dream, 
ma’am : you did not finish it.” 

“ True, and it’s worth finishing,” 
answered the housekeeper, settling 
herself in her chair. “Where was I? 
Oh — I thought at the foot of the bed 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


31 


stood Mr. Winninton, and when the 
footsteps came close, and the door 
opened — so slowly, Hannah, and we 
watching in suspense all the time — 
who should it be but Mr. and Mrs. 
Castonel. She was in her grave-clothes, 
a flannel dress and cap, edged with 
white quilled ribbon, and she looked, 
for all the world, as she looks this 
night. He had got hold of her hand, 
and he handed her in, remaining him- 
self at the door, and my old master bent 
forward and took her by the other hand. 
Mr. Winninton looked at me, as much 
as to say, Do you see this ? and then 
they both turned and gazed after Mr. 
Castonel. I heard his footsteps de- 
scending the stairs, and upon looking 
again at the foot of the bed, they were 
both gone. I woke up in a dreadful 
fright, and could not get to sleep again 
for two hours.” 

“It’s a mercy it wasn’t me that 
dreamt it,” observed Hannah. “ I 
should have rose the house, screeching.”' 

“ It was a nasty dream,” added Mrs. 
Muff, “ and if mistress had not been 
out of all danger, and getting better as 
fast as she can get, I should say it be- 
tokened — something not over pleasant.” 

She was interrupted by Mrs. Caston- 
el’s bell. It was for a cup of tea, and 
Mrs. Muff took it up. As she passed 
the laboratory she saw that Mr. Cas- 
tonel was in it still. Mrs. Castonel 
was seated in an arm-chair by her bed- 
room fire. 

“Then you have not been asleep, 
ma’am ?” observed Mrs. Muff, perceiv- 
ing that her mistress had the candles 
lighted and was reading. 

“No, I have not felt sleepy this 
evening. Let Hannah come up when 
I ring next. I should like to see her.” 

Scarcely had Mrs. Muff regained the 
kitchen, when the bell rang again, so 
she sent up Hannnli. 

“ Ah, Hannah, how d’ye do ?” said 
Mrs. Castonel. 

“I am nicely, thank you, miss — 
ma’am,” answered Hannah, who did not 
stand in half the awe of “ Miss Caroline ” 
that she did of the formidable Mrs. 
Muff. “ I am sorry to find you are not 
well, ma’am.” 


“ I have been ill, but I am much bet- 
ter. So much better that 1 should have 
gone down-stairs to-day, had it not 
been so damp and chilly.” >; 

Hannah never took her eyes off Mrs. 
Castonel as she spoke; she was think-? 
ing how very mutfh she was changed; 
apart from hfer paleness and aspect of 
ill health. Her eyes appeared darker, 
and there was a look of care in them. 
She wore a cap, and her dark hair was 
nearly hidden under it. 

“ Now, Hannah,” she said, “ I hope 
you have made up your mind to do 
your work well, and help Mrs. Muff all 
that you can. There is a deal more 
work to do here than there was at my 
uncle’s.” 

“Yes ma’am,” answered Hannah. 

“ Especially in running up and down 
stairs you must save Mrs. Muff ; your 
legs are younger than hers. Let me 
see that you do, and then I shall be 
pleased with you.” 

“ I’ll try,” repeated Hannah. “ Shall 
I take your cup for some more tea, 
ma’am ?” 

“ I should like some,” was Mrs. Cas- 
tonel’ s reply, “ but I don’t know that 
I may have it. This morning Mr. Cas- 
tonel said it was bad for me, and made 
me nervous, and would not let me 
drink a second cup.” 

Hannah stood waiting, not knowing 
whether to take the cup or not. 

“ Is Mr. Castonel in his study ?” 

“ If you please, ma’am, which place 
is that ?” 

“The front room on the left-hand 
side, opening opposite to the dining- 
parlor,” said Mrs. Castonel. 

“ I don’t think it is there then,” re- 
plied Hannah. “He is in the little 
room where the bottles are, next the 
kitchen. I forget, ma’am, what Mrs. 
Muff called it.” 

“Oh, is he? Set this door open, 
Hannah.” 

The girl obeyed, and Mrs. Castonel 
called to him. “ Gervase !” 

He heard her, and came immediate- 
ly to the foot of the stairs. “ What is 
it ?” he asked. 

“ May I have another cup of tea ?” 

He ran up-stairs and entered the 


32 


GERYASE CASTONEL ; OR, 


room. “ Have you taken your tea al- 
ready?” he said, in an accent of sur- 
prise and displeasure. “I told you to 
wait till seven o’clock.” 

“ I was so thirsty. Do say I may 
have another cup, Gervase. I am sure 
it will not hurt me.” 

“ Bring up half a cup,” he said to 
the servant, “ and some more bread-and- 
butter. If you drink, Caroline, you 
must eat.” 

Hannah went down-stairs. She pro- 
cured what was wanted, and was carry- 
ing it from the kitchen again, when Mr. 
Castonel came out of the laboratory, to 
which, it appeared, he bad returned. 

“Give it me,” he said to Hannah. 
“ I will take it myself to your mistress.” 

So he proceeded up-stairs with the 
little waiter, and Hannah returned to 
the kitchen. “How much she’s alter- 
ed !” was her exclamation, as she closed 
the door. 

“ What did she say to you ?” ques-, 
tioned Mrs. Muff. 

1 “ Well, ma’am, she told me to be at- 

tentive, and to save your legs,” return- 
ed Hannah. “ I never knew Miss Caro- 
line so thoughtful before. I thought 
it was not in her.” 

“ And that has surprised me, that she 
should evince so much lately,” assented 
Mrs. Muff. “ Thoughtfulness does not 
come to the young suddenly. It’s a 
thing that only comes with years — or 
sorrow.” 

“ Sorrow !” echoed Hannah. “ Miss 
Caroline can’t have any sorrow.” 

“ Not — not that I know of,” some- 
what dubiously responded the house- 
keeper. 

41 Is Mr. Castonel fond of her ? Does 
he make her a good husband ?” asked 
Hannah, full of woman’s curiosity on 
such points. 

“ What should hinder him ?” testily 
retorted Mrs. Muff. 

44 Has that — that strange lady left the 
place ?” was Hannah’s next question. 
“ She that, people said, had something 
to do with Mr. Castonel. 

• What to do with him ?” was the 
sharp demand. 

“ Was his cousin, ma’am, or sister-in- 
kw, or some relation of that sort.” ex- 


plained Hannah, with a face demure 
enough to disarm the anger of the fas- 
tidious Mrs. Muff. 

“ I believe she ha% not left,” was the 
stiff response ; “ I know nothing about 
her.” 

“ Do you suppose Miss Caroline 
does ?” added Hannah. 

“ Of course she does, all particulars,” 
returned Mrs. Muff, with a peculiar 
sniff, which she invariably gave when 
forcing her tongue to an untruth. “ But 
it’s not your business, so you may just 
put it out of your head, and never say 
any more about it. And you may be- 
gin and wash up the tea-things. John 
don’t deserve any tea for not coming in, 
and I have a great mind to make him 
go without. He is always stopping in 
the street to play.” 

Hannah was rising to obey, when the 
bedroom bell rang most violently, and 
Mr. Castonel was heard bursting out of 
the room, and calling loudty for assist- 
ance. 

“ Whatever can be the matter ?” was 
the terrified exclamation of Mrs. Muff. 
“ Mistress has never dropped asleep, and 
fallen off her chair into the fire ! Follow 
me up stairs, girl. And that lazy tiger 
a playing truant !” 

Not for many a year had the house- 
keeper flown up -stairs so quickly. Han- 
nah followed more slowly, from a vague 
consciousness of dread — of what she 
might see ; the dream she had shud- 
dered at, being before her mind in 
vivid colors. Mrs. Castonel was in con- 
vulsions. 

About the same hour, or a little later, 
Mr. Leicester returned to his home, 
having been absent since morning. 
“Welli” he cheerily said, as betook 
his seat by the fire, “ have you any 
news ? A whole day from the parish 
seems a long absence to me.” 

“ I think not,” answered Mrs. Leices- 
ter. “ Except that I went to see Caro- 
line Castonel to-day, and she is getting 
on nicely.” 

“ I am glad to hear it. Is she quite 
out of danger ?” 

“ Completely so.” 

“ She told mamma that she should 
be at church on Sunday,” added Ellen, 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


33 


“ Yes, but I told her that would be 
imprudent,” returned Mrs. Leicester. 
“ However, she will soon be well now.” 

At that moment the church bell rang 
out with its three times two, denoting 
the recent departure of a soul. The 
church, situate at the end of the village 
street, was immediately opposite the 
parsonage, the main road dividing them. 
The sound struck upon their ears loud 
and full ; very solemnly in the stillness 
of the winter’s night. 

Consternation fell upon all. No one 
was ill in the village, at least, ill enough 
for death. Could a sister — for they 
knew, by the strokes, it was not a male 
— have been called away suddenly ? 

* The passing-bell !” uttered the rector, 
rising from his seat in agitation. “ And 
I to have been absent ! Have I been 
summoned out ?” he hurriedly asked 
of Mrs. Leicester. 

“ No ; I assure you, no. Not any 
one has been for you. Neither have 
we heard speak of any illness.” 

Mr. Leicester touched the bell-rope 
at his elbow. A maid servant answered 
it. Benjamin was attending to his 
horse. “ Step over,” said the rector, 
“ and inquire who is dead.” 

She departed. A couple of minutes 
at the most would see her back again. 
They had all risen from their seats, and 
stood in an expecting, almost a reverent 
attitude. The bell was striking out fast 
strokes now. The girl returned, look- 
ing terrified. 

“ It is the passing-bell, sir, for Mrs. 
Castonel.” 

The morning was cold and misty, and 
the Re\ erend Mr. Leicester felt a strange 
chill ai d lowness of spirits, for which 
he could not account, when he stepped 
into the chariot that was to convey 
him to Mr. Castonel’s. 

Mrs. Chavasse and Frances came in- 
to the parsonage. Ostensibly for the 
purpose of inviting Ellen to spend the 
following day with them : in reality to 
see the funeral. They had not long to 
wait. 

The undertaker came first in his hat- 
band and scarf, and then the black char- 
iot containing the Reverend Mr. Leices- 


ter. Before the. hearse walked six car- 
riers, and the mourning-coach came last. 
It was a plain, respectable funeral. 

It drew up at the churchyard gate, 
in full view of the parsonage windows, 
all ol which had their blinds closely 
drawn, out of respect for the dead. But 
they managed to peep at it behind the 
blinds. 

The rector stepped out first, and stood 
waiting at the church door in his offici- 
ating dress, his book open in his hands. 
There was some little delay in getting 
the burden from the hearse, but at length 
the carriers had it on their shoulders, 
and bore it up the path with measured, 
even steps, themselves being nearly hid- 
den by the pall. Mr. Castonel followed, 
his handkerchief to his face. He be- 
trayed at that moment no outward sign 
of emotion, but his face could not have 
been exceeded in whiteness by that of 
his dead wife. 

“ Oh !” said Ellen, shivering, and 
turning from the light, as she burst into 
tears, “ what a dreadful sequel it is to 
the day when he last got out of a car- 
riage at that churchyard gate, and she 
was with him, in her gay happiness ! 
Poor Mr. Castonel, how he must need 
consolation !” 

“ It is nothing of a funeral, after all,” 
said Mrs. Chavasse, discontentedly ; “ no 
pall-bearers, nor mutes, nor any thing. 
I wonder he did not have some!” 


CHAPTER Y. 

OF THE STRANGE W’OMAN AT BEECH 
LODGE, AND THE STRANGE SCENE 
GOING ON THERE. 

Beech Lodge was a queer, quaint 
place — a cottage set far back among 
the trees — built after the fashion of 
a gamekeeper’s lodge, which it had 
been, as we have said before, and hence 
the name ; but a comfortable dwelling 
enough, when, as in this instance, the 
family was small. Here dwelt the re- 
tired female, of whose coming and con 
tinued residence all Ebury went into 
spasms of wonder — a wonder grown 


34 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


chronic, and not to be abated by time. 
Had the lady been seen sufficiently near 
and often, Ebury would have admired 
still more. As Mr. Leicester had ob- 
served, she had the manners of a gen- 
tlewoman, and she was young and 
handsome. What Mr. Leicester did 
not observe, however, was a wedding- 
ring on the customary finger. 

It was the day after the funeral of 
Mrs. Castonel, and a strange scene was 
being performed in the gamekeeper’s 
lodge. 

In the little drawing-room sat Ger- 
vase Castonel, quietly, mockingly it 
would seem ; but the young and hand- 
some woman was not quiet, neither was 
she seated. She paced the room at 
times, gracefully but vehemently, and 
spoke as vehemently as she walked. 

Mr. Castonel responded in the same 
style as he sat ; and his quiet, mocking 
manner added fuel to the flame in his 
companion’s mind. At length he spoke, 
with some irritation in his tone : 

“ It is idle to talk so, Lavinia. What 
does it all matter to you ? You chose 
your own position. If this thing grows 
irksome, you know the alternative. 
Disgrace to your proud race, for their 
name, lineage, and all will come out. 
Did you ever know me fail in a promise 
for evil?” 

“ Do you expect me to stand by, and 
see you commit” — 

“ Hush ! that will do. You have 
hinted that before. Do not say it, 
when you have no proof. Have I not 
spared him and you ?” 

She burst into tears, and threw her- 
self into a chair, sobbing violently. 

“What do I gain?” he continued. 
“I think that was your question just 
now. What can that concern you ? 
It is my whim — my will. Say that I 
gratify my passions — can you object to 
that ?” 

She started up, and stood over him 
with clenched hands. 

“ I will expose all.” 

“Remember your oath — remember 
every thing, and then do it.” 

Another burnt of tears on the part 
of the woman, who sank back again in 
the chair, was followed by a low, 


mocking laugh on the part of Mr. 
Castonel. 

“ I am a mourner,” said he. “ You 
should not disturb my sadness with 
these harsh words. Have pity on the 
sorrows of an unfortunate husband.” 

“ You are a fiend.” 

“ Oh, no ; fiends only exist in stage- 
plays, and in story-books — now and 
then in a pantomime. Beside, you did 
not always think so. I remember very 
well when I was a sort of seraph. Lu- 
cifer fell, and why not Gervase Cas- 
tonel. It is a good name that — almost 
as good as Richard” — 

“ Ah!” 

“ Why interrupt me ? I was about to 
utter a name that would please you al- 
most as much as mine. I spared him — 
you know why, and on what terms.” 

“ Why was I born ?” moaned the 
woman. 

“ For some wise purpose, probably. 
You should not trouble your brains 
with mysteries. Live quietly here, no 
one disturbs you. In spite of the past, 
I guard your reputation, and your 
peace. Am I not kind ? If I amuse 
myself, why object ? There was a time 
when you had a light to do it — that 
day has passed.” 

“ But you will not repeat this act ?” 

“ In due time — yes. I have said that 
I will take the three. Shall I not be 
repaid threefold ? Having lost a wife, 
shall I not marry again ? Is not matri- 
mony a pleasant estate, and an honora- 
ble?” 

There was some hidden meaning in 
the w'ords, for the woman shuddered 
convulsively. Then she came forward 
again, and threw herself on her knees 
before the surgeon. 

He looked at her contemptuously, 
and laughed. 

“ That posture would suit an actress, 
or a nun. You are neither — only a 
duke’s daughter. I am — well, just 
now, ^ I am only a country surgeon. 
Some people would call me an apothe- 
cary. Merit and standing is never ap- 
preciated. I have forgiven partly, but 
not punished enough. Beside, there 
are others to punish.” 

She looked up in astonishment. 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


35 


“ There is something in my history 
you do not know. I may tell you some 
day, or I may not. Let us talk of 
something else.” 

The woman arose from her knees. 

“ I am powerless,” she said, “ I will 
do as you order.” 

. “You are wise, after all. Have you 
means enough ?” 

“ Ample.” 

“ Does Mary serve you well ?” 

“ I have no complaint to make.” 

“ Of course not ; when she fails in 
her duty, there are others to replace 
her. If you have means enough for 
your needs, and no complaints of your 
servant, and no more lectures to read 
me, I might as well go. I have the 
honor to bid you a very good-night, 
madam. May you have all the quiet 
rest, and pleasant dreams, a good con- 
science can afford.” 

He rose, bowed formally, and with a 
light, mocking laugh, left the room. 

When he had gone, the woman sank 
on her knees again. She was not in 
prayer. The clenched hands, the com- 
pressed lips, and the convulsed features, 
showed that a thousand evil passions, 
and not devotion, were at work within 
her. 

The surgeon kept on his way with a 
light step, but as he came near a dark 
lane in the village, he slackened his 
pace, and looked around. A female 
figure emerged from the lane. The 
party was closely muffled, but the two 
had evidently been expecting each 
other, for they conversed in a low tone 
for some time, both standing in the 
darkest shadow of the adjoining house. 
At length the surgeon parted the hood 
which the female wore, and stooping, 
kissed her. Just then, some one came 
along, when the female ran hastily into 
the lane, and the surgeon crouched back, 
until the stranger had passed. In a few 
minutes he followed. 

And this was the day after his wife’s 
funeral ! What gossip for Ebury, if it 
had been known ! But Ebury was 
profoundly ignorant of the matter. 


CHAPTER VI. 

MISS ELLEN AND HER LOVER, AND THE 

COMING DOWNFALL OF A YOUNG LA- 

dy’s HOPES. 

The hot day had nearly passed, and 
the sun, approaching its setting, threw 
the tall shade of the trees across the gar- 
den of Mrs. Chavasse. The large win- 
dow of a pleasant room opened on to it, 
and in this room stood a fair, graceful 
girl, with one of the loveliest faces ever 
seen in Ebury. Her dark blue eyes 
were bent on the ground ; as well they 
might be : the rose of her cheek had 
deepened to crimson ; as well it might 
do ; for a gentleman’s arm had fondly 
encircled her waist, and his lips had 
pushed aside the cluster of soft hair, and 
were rendering deeper that damask 
cheek. Alas, that her whole attitude, as 
she stood there, should tell of such rap- 
turous happiness ! 

Neither was an inhabitant of that 
house ; both had come in to pay an 
evening visit, and the young lady had 
thrown off her bonnet and mantle. It 
i nay be these visits were accidental ; 
but if so, they took place nearly every 
evening. It happened that Mrs. and 
Miss Chavasse on this occasion 'were 
out, but expected to enter every minute ; 
so, being alone, they were improving on 
the time. 

And this from Miss Leicester, the 
carefully brought-up daughter of the 
rector of Ebury ! That she should re- 
pose quietly in the embrace of that man 
without attempting to withdraw from 
it! Yes : and love has caused some of 
us to do as much. But oh, that the 
deep, ardent affection, of which Ellen 
Leicester was so eminently capable, had 
been directed into any other channel 
than the one it was irrevocably fixed in ! 

For he who stood beside her was 
Gervase Castonel. It was not that he 
had once been married, but it was that 
there were some who deemed him a bad 
man, a mysterious man, with his sinister 
expression of face, when he did not care 
to check it, and his covert ways. Why 
should he have cast his coils round El- 
len Leicester ? why have striven to gain 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


36 

hei • love when there were so many oth- 
ers whose welcome to him would have 
carried with it no alloy ? It would al- 
most seem that Mr. Castonel went by 
the rules of contrary, as the children 
say in their play-game. The only per- 
sons into whose houses he had not been 
received, and who had both taken so 
strange and unconquerable a dislike to 
him, were the late Mr. Winninton and 
the Reverend Mr. Leicester. Yet he 
had chosen his first wife in the niece 
of the first, and it seemed likely (to us 
who are in the secret) that he was seek- 
ing a second in the daughter of the last. 
Strange that he should have been able 
to do his work so effectually ; that El- 
len Leicester, so good and dutiful, should 
have been won over to a passion for 
him, little short of infatuation, and that 
it should have been kept so secret from 
the whole world ! Never was there a 
man who could go more mysteriously 
to work than Gervase Castonel. 

“ You speak of a second marriage, 
Ellen, my love,” he was saying, “ but 
how often have I told you that this 
scarcely applies to me. Were it that I 
had lived with her years of happiness, 
or that I had loved her, then your ob- 
jections might have reason. I repeat to 
you, however much you may despise me 
for it, that I married her, caring only for 
you. Before I was awake to my own 
sensations, I had gone too far to retract ; 
I had asked for her of old Winninton, 
and in honor I was obliged to keep to 
my hasty engagement. Even in our 
early marriage days I knew that I loved 
but you : sleeping or waking, it was you 
who were present to me, and I would 
awake from sleep, from dreams of my 
real idol, to caress thanklessly my false 
one ! Oh, Ellen ! you may disbelieve 
and refuse to love me, but in mercy say 
it not.” 

There was great honey in the words 
of Mr. Castonel, there was greater honey 
in his tone, and Ellen Leicester’s heart 
beat more rapidly within her. She 
disbelieve aught asserted by him ! 

“ Ellen, you judge wrongly,” was his 
reply, as she whispered something in 
his ear. “ It is a duty sometimes to 
leave father and mother.” 


“ But not disobediently, not wilfully. 
And I know that they would never 
consent. You know it also, Gervase.” 

“ My darling Ellen, this is nonsense. 
Suppose I were to yield to your scru- 
ples, and marry another in my anger? 
What then, Ellen?” 

“ I think it would kill me,” she mur- 
mured. 

“ And because Mr. and Mrs. Leices- 
ter have taken an unjust prejudice 
against me, both our lives are to be 
rendered miserable ! Would that be 
justice? Suppose you were my wife; 
do suppose it, only for a moment, Ellen ; 
suppose that w r e were irrevocably united, 
we should then not have consent to ask, 
but forgiveness.” 

She looked earnestly at him, and as 
his true meaning came across her, the 
mild expression of her deep blue eyes 
gave place to terror. 

“ Oh, Gervase,” she implored, clasp- 
ing his arm in agitation, “ never say 
that again ? As you value my peace 
here and hereafter, do not tempt me to 
disobedience. I mistook your meaning, 
did I not?” she continued in a rapid 
tone of terror. “ Gervase, I say, did I 
not mistake you ?” 

He felt that he had been too hasty : 
the right time was not come. But it 
would : for never did Gervase Castonel 
set his will upon a thing, that he left 
unfulfilled. 

Miss Chavasse entered. Ellen Leices- 
ter was in the garden then : she had 
glided out on hearing her approach. 
And Mr. Castonel was seated back in 
an arm-chair, intent upon a newspaper. 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Frances, “ I am 
sorry we should have been out. I am 
sure we are obliged to you for waiting 
for us, Mr. Castonel.” 

“ I have not waited long ; but if I 
had waited the whole evening I should 
be amply repaid now.” He spoke 
softly and impressively, as he detained 
her hand in his : and from his manner 
then, it might well have been thought 
that he intended Frances Chavasse for 
his wife ; at least it never could have 
been believed he was so ardently pur- 
suing another. 

“ And Ellen Leicester is here !” added 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


3Y 


Frances, “ for that’s her bonnet. Have 
you seen her?” 

“ Who ? Miss Leicester ? Yes, I be- 
lieve I did see her. But I was so en- 
gaged with this paper. Here is some 
interesting medical evidence in it.” 

“ Is there ?” But at that moment 
Ellen Leicester came to the window. 
“ How long have you been here ?” asked 
Frances. 

“ About an hour,” was Miss Leices- 
ter’s answer. 

“ What an awful girl for truth that 
is !” was the angry mental comment of 
Mr. Castonel. 

“ I must say you have proved your- 
selves sociable companions,” remarked 
Frances. “ You mope in the garden, 
Ellen, and Mr. Castonel pores over an 
old newspaper! Let us have a song.” 

Now Mr. Castonel hated singing, but 
Frances sat down to the piano, and he 
was pleased to stand behind her and 
clasp the hand of Ellen Leicester. Yet 
Frances, had she been asked, would 
have said Mr. Castonel’s attention was 
given to herself; ay, and gloried in 
saying it, for she liked the man, and 
would have had no objection to become 
his second wife. It may be, that she 
was scheming for it. Thus they re- 
mained till the night came on, and the 
moon was up. Frances, never tired of 
displaying her rich voice, and Ellen 
Leicester content to stand by his side 
had the standing lasted forever. Moon- 
light singing-meetings are dangerous 
© © © © © 

things. 

A servant came for Ellen Leicester, 
and Mr. Castonel walked home with 
her. They went not the front way, but 
through the lane, which brought them 
to the back door of the rectory. Was 
it that Ellen shrank from going openly, 
lest her parents might see from the 
windows that Mr. Castonel was her 
companion ? He lingered with her for 
a few moments at the gate, and when 
she entered she found her mother alone : 
the rector was out. To her it had been 
a delicious walk, and she felt that life 
would be indeed a blank, if not shared 
with Gervase Castonel. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE MYSTERIOUS RESIDENT OF BEECH 
LODGE HIRES A SPY, WHO SEEMS 
LIKELY TO BE OF LITTLE VALUE. 


A boy, in a showy livery, and having 
a basket in his hand, was loitering along 
the street, one day. Presently he came 
in front of Beech Lodge. The servant 
girl there, who had apparently been 
watching, beckoned him to come over. 

“Me, ma’am,” inquiringly said John, 
for it was Mr. Castonel’s tiger, and he 
hesitated. 

The woman nodded affirmatively, 
whereupon John crossed, and entering 
the little gate, came to the house. 

“ My mistress wants to see you,” said 
the girl. 

“ Yes, ma’am. I’ll come in as soon 
as I scrape my feet.” 

She led him into the little parlor, 
where the lady was ready to receive 
him. 

“ What is your name ?” she asked. 

“John, ma’am.” 

“ Do you like spending money, 
John ?” 


“ Do I ? Oh, just you try me, ma’am.” 

The lady handed him a shilling. 

“ You can have this very frequently, 
if you can keep your tongue still to 
others, and use it to me.” 

Very well, ma’am.” 

“ Does your master visit much now ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am ; there’s a good many 
sick, just now.” 

“ 1 do not mean that. Does he pay 
many visits to young ladies?” 

“ Oh, yes, ma’am. ' He visits at Mr. 
Chavasse’s a great deal.” 

“ Miss Chavasse is very handsome, is 
she not?” 

“ Oh, lor’, ma’am, isn’t she though ! 
They say that master’s going to marry 
her.” 

“ Ah !” 


“ I don’t think so though.” 

“ No ? why not ?” 

“ I can see when I keep my eyes 
open. He’s after Miss Leicester, I 
know.” 

“ That is the rector’s daughter.” 
“Yes, ma’am.” 


38 


GERVASE CASTONEL ; OR, 


“ And is she handsome, too ?” 

“ Handsomer nor ’tother. She’s a 
beauty, she is.” 

“ Are there no other ladies ?” 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“ None who come to visit him ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am, patients.” 

“ If any come, let me know, and you 
may depend on me for a little pocket- 
money.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” and John bowed 
himself and his basket out. 

“ If she wants information for her 
money, here’s the shop where they 
keep it,” said John, as he walked 
along, tossing the shilling about in his 
trowsers pocket, “and it’s always on 
hand suited to customers. Oh !” 

His last exclamation was occasioned 
by the sudden appearance of his mas- 
ter, who seemed to come from out of 
the ground, or behind one of the beech- 
trees, and John did not feel quite sure 
which. 

“ So you have been into Beech 
Lodge,” he asked. 

“ Yes, sir — they called me over.” 

“ What did they want ?” 

“The lady there — missus — what is 
her name, sir ?” 

“ Never mind the name. What did 
she want ?” 

“ Oh, nothing, sir — just asked after 
your health — that’s all, sir.” 

“John, you are lying to me. You 
were not called in for any such pur- 
pose. You had better tell the truth, 
for if I find that you deceive me, you 
will lose your place. She offered you 
money to act the spy on me. Was 
that it?” 

“ She wanted to know about the 
young ladies you visit, sir ?” 

“Exactly. You have my permission 
to earn what money you can in that 
way — only remember this : I will al- 
ways give you the news you are to 
carry. Do you understand ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Now go on, and deliver your medi- 
cines.” 

John touched his hat, and departed. 

“ I hope he’ll have something for me 
pretty soon,” said John, “a shilling 
won’t last long.” 


It was evident that the information 
to be obtained by the lady was not 
always to be reliable. In intrigue or 
in war, you cannot always rely upon 
your spies. They may be in the in- 
terest of the enemy, or they may cheat 
both parties. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TWO GENTLEMEN SEEM TO HAVE NO 

VERY GOOD OPINION OF THE HERO 

OF THE STORY. 

Ellen had been invited to spend the 
next evening with Miss Chavasse, as 
was a frequent occurrence, and it was 
chiefly in these evening meetings that 
her love had grown up and ripened. 
Mr. Castonel was ever a welcome visitor 
to Mrs. Chavasse, and Frances had 
laughed, and talked, and flirted with 
him, till a warmer feeling had arisen in 
her heart. He had all the practice of 
Eburv, being the only resident medi- 
cal man, so in a pecuniary point of 
view, he was a desirable match for 
Frances. Little deemed they that Ellen 
Leicester was his attraction. A tacit 
sort of rivalry with Ellen existed in the 
mind of Frances: she thought of her 
as a rival in beauty, a rival in position, 
a rival in the favor of Ebury. But she 
was really fond of Ellen, always anxious 
to have her by her side, and it never 
once entered into her brain that Mr. 
Castonel, who was under cold dis- 
pleasure at the rectory, should seek the 
favor of Ellen. 

Again went Ellen that evening to 
the house of Mrs. Chavasse, and again 
went Mr. Castonel. They, the three, 
passed it in the garden, a large ram- 
bling place, nearly as full of weeds as 
of flowers. They roamed about the 
different walks, they sat on the benches ; 
Mr. Castonel’s attention being given 
chiefly to Frances, not to Ellen, his 
custom when with both. Frances pos- 
sessed her mother’s old talent for flirta- 
tion, and Mr. Castonel was nothing loth 
to exercise it. And so, the evening 
passed, and the summer moon rose in 
its course. 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


39 


“ Oh !” suddenly cried Frances as 
they were returning to the house, “ I 
have forgotten the bay leaves mamma 
told me to gather. Now I must go 
back all down to the end of the gar- 
den.” 

She probably thought Mr. Castonel 
would follow her. He did not. He 
turned to Ellen Leicester, and drawing 
her amongst the thick trees, clasped 
her to him. 

“ I shall wish you good-night now, 
my darling,” he murmured, “ this mo- 
ment is too precious to be lost. Oh, 
Ellen ! are things to go on like this for- 
ever? It is true these evening meet- 
ings are a consolation to us, for they 
are spent in the presence of each other, 
but the hours which ought to be yours, 
and yours only, are thrown away in 
idle nonsense with Frances Chavasse. 
Oh, that we had indeed a right to be 
together and alone ! When is that time 
to come ? — -for come it must , Ellen. 
When two people love as we do, and 
no justifiable impediment exists to its 
being legally ratified, that ratification 
will take place sooner or later. Think 
of this,” he murmured, reluctantly re- 
leasing her, as the steps of Miss Cha- 
vasse were heard drawing near. 

“ I expected you were in the house 
by this time,” she exclaimed, breath- 
lessly, “ and you are only where I left 
you.” 

“We waited for you,” said Mr. Cas- 
tonel. 

“ Very considerate of you !” was the 
reply of Frances, spoken in a tone of 
pique. She had expected Mr. Castonel 
to follow her. 

They walked on towards the house, 
Mr. Castonel giving his arm to Frances. 
Talking was heard in the drawing-room, 
and they recognized the voice of Mr. 
Leicester. 

“ I will go round here,” said Mr. Cas- 
tonel, indicating a path which led to a 
side gate of egress. “ If I enter, they 
will keep me talking ; and I have a pa- 
tient to see.” 

He extended a hand to each, as he 
spoke, by way of farewell, but Frances 
turned along the path with him. ,+Ellen 
sat down on a garden-chair and waited. 


The voices from the house came dis- 
tinctly to her ear in the quiet night. 

“ They will be in directly,” Mrs. Cha- 
vasse was saying. “Mr. Castonel is 
with them. He and Frances grow 
greater friends than ever.” 

“ Beware of that friendship,” inter- 
rupted Mr. Leicester. “ It may lead to 
something more.” 

“ And what if it should,” asked Mrs. 
Chavasse. 

The rector paused, as if in surprise. 
“ Do I understand you rightly, Mrs. 
Chavasse — that you would suffer Frances 
to become his wife ?” 

“Who is going to marry Frances ?” 
inquired Mr. Chavasse, entering, and 
hearing the last words. 

“ Nobody,” answered his wife. “ We 
were speculating on Mr. Castonel’s at- 
tention to her becoming more particular. 
I’m sure anybody might be proud to 
have him ; he must be earning a largo 
income.” 

“ My objection to Mr. Castonel is to 
his character,” returned the clergyman. 
“ He is a bad man, living an irregu- 
lar life. The world may call it gallant- 
ry : I call it sin.” 

“You allude to that mysterious girl 
who followed him down here,” said Mrs. 
Chavasse. “ You know what he told 
Mr. Winninton — that it was a relation, 
a lady of family and character. Of 
course it is singular, her living on, here, 
in the way she does, but it may be quite 
right, for all that.” 

“ 1 saw him stealing off there last 
night, as I came home,” observed the 
rector. “ But I do not allude only to 
that. There are other things I could 
tell you of : some that happened during 
the lifetime of his wife.” 

“ Then I tell you what,” interrupted 
Mr. Chavasse, in his bluff, hearty man- 
ner, “ a man of that sort should never 
have a daughter of mine. So mind 
what you and Frances are about, Mrs. 
Chavasse.” 

“That’s just like papa,” whispered 
Frances, who had returned to Ellen Lei- 
cester. “ Speaking fiercely one minute, 
eating his words the next. Mamma al- 
ways turns him round her little finger.” 

“ As you val^ie your daughter’s hap- 


40 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


piness, keep her from Mr. Castonel, ’ 
resumed the minister. I doubt him 
in more ways than one.” 

“Do listen to your papa, Ellen,” 
again whispered Frances. “How pre- 
judiced he is against Mr. Castonel.” 

“ My dear father is prejudiced against 
him,” was Ellen’s thought. “ He says 
he met him stealing off to her house 
last night — if he did but know he was 
stealing back from bringing me home !” 

Ellen was mistaken. It was later 
that the rector had met Mr. Castonel. 

“ Must I give him up !” she went on, 
in mental anguish. “It will cost me 
the greatest of all earthly misery : per- 
haps even my life. But I cannot have 
the curse of disobedience on my soul. 
I must, I will give him up.” 

Ah, Ellen Leicester ! you little know 
how such good resolutions fail when one 
is present with you to combat them ! 
However, nourish your intention for 
the present, if you will. It will come 
to the same. 

“ Ellen, I say,” Frances continued to 
whisper, “ what is it that prejudices 
your papa against Mr. Castonel ? Caro- 
line told me herself, after her marriage, 
that that person was a relative of his, 
one almost like a sister. You heard her 
say so.” 

Ellen Leicester did not answer, and 
Frances turned towards her. It may 
have been the effect of the moonlight, 
but her face looked cold and white as 
the snow in winter. 


CHAPTER IX. 

MR. CASTONEL ASTONISHES HIS HOUSE- 
KEEPER WITH A COMMUNICATION, BUT 
ASTONISHES MR. LEICESTER STILL 
MORE WITHOUT ONE. 

It was a fine evening in October. 
Mr. Castonel had dined, and the tiger 
lighted the lamp, and placed it, with the 
port-wine, on the table before him. Mr. 
Castonel was particularly fond of a glass 
of good port ; but he let it remain un- 
touched on this day, for he was buried 
in thought. He was a slight-made man, 


neither handsome nor plain, and his un- 
fathomable gray eyes never looked you 
in the face. He rang the bell, and the 
tiger answered it. 

“ Send Mrs. Muff to me. And, John, 
don’t leave the house. I shall want 
you.” 

The housekeeper came in, closed the 
door, and came towards him. He was 
then pouring out his first glass of 
wine. 

“Muff,” he began, “there’s a small 
black portmanteau somewhere about 
the house. A hand portmanteau.” 

“ Yes sir. It is in the closet by John’s 
room.” 

“ Get it out, and put a week’s change 
of linen into it. Did the tailor send 
home some new clothes to-day ?” 

“ He did sir, and I ordered Hannah 
to take them up-stairs.” 

“ They must be put in. And my 
shaving tackle, and such things. I am 
going out for a few days.” 

Mrs. Muff was thunderstruck. She 
had never known Mr. Castonel to leave 
Ebury, since he had settled in it, except 
on the occasion of his marriage. 

“ You have given me a surprise, sir,” 
she said, “ but I’ll see to the things. 
Do you want them for to-morrow ?” 

“ For this evening.” 

Mrs. Muff thought her ears must have 
deceived her. The last ooach for the 
distant railway station had left. Besides, 
she had heard Mr. Castonel make an 
appointment in Ebury for the following 
day at twelve. “ This evening, sir ?” 
she repeated. “ The coaches have all 
one. The last drove by as John was 
ringing out the dinner tray.” 

“ For this evening,” repeated Mr. 
Castonel, without further comment. “ In 
half an hour’s time. And, Muff, you 
must get the house cleaned and put 
thoroughly in order while I am away. 
Let the dressing-room adjoining my bed- 
chamber be made ready for use, the 
scent-bottles and trumpery put on the 
dressing-table, as it was in — in the time 
of Mrs. Castonel.” 

This was the climax. Mrs. Muff’s 
speech failed her. 

“ This is Tuesday. I intend to be 
home on Monday next. I shall proba- 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


41 


bly bring a — a person — a companion 
home with me.” 

“ A what, sir ?” demanded Mrs. Muff. 

“ A friend will accompany me, I say.” 

“Very well, sir, which room shall I 
get ready ?” 

“Room! What for?” 

Mrs. Muff was growing bewildered. 
“ I thought you said a gentleman was 
returning with you, sir. I asked which 
bed-chamber I should prepare for him.” 

“ My own.” 

“ Certainly, sir,” answered the house- 
keeper, hesitatingly. “And, in that case, 
which room shall I prepare for you ?” 

Mr. Castonel laughed ; such a strange 
laugh. “ I will tell you then,” he replied. 
“You must also send for the gardener, 
and get the garden done up. Send to- 
morrow morning, and let him begin. 
John can help him : he will not have 
much to do while I am away.” 

“ Except mischief,” added the house- 
keeper. “ I’ll keep him to it, sir.” 

“ And, Muff, if anybody comes after 
me to-night, no matter who, or how late, 
say I am gone to an urgent case in the 
country, and send them to Mr. Rice. 
You remember, now, no matter who. 
You may tell the whole town to-morrow, 
and the devil besides, for all it can sig- 
nify then.” 

“ Tell what, sir ?” 

“ That I am gone out for a week’s 
holiday.” 

Mrs. Muff withdrew, utterly stupefied. 
She thought that she was beside herself, 
or else that Mr. Castonel was. 

That same evening, not very long af- 
ter, Ellen Leicester, attended by a maid, 
left her home, for she had promised to 
take tea with Mrs. Chavasse. In pass- 
ing a lonely part of the road, where the 
way branched off to the railroad, they 
came upon Mr. Castonel. He shook 
hands with Miss Leicester, and gave her 
his arm, saying that he was also bound 
for Mrs. Chavasse’s. “I will take charge 
of you now,” he added ; “you need not 
trouble your maid to come any fur- 
ther.” 

“Very true,” murmured Ellen. “ Mar- 
tha,” she said, turning to the servant, 
“ if you would like two or three hours 
for yourself to-night, you may have 


them. Perhaps you would like to go 
home and see your mother.” 

The girl thanked her, and departed 
cheerfully towards the village. Could 
she have peered beyond a turning in the 
way, she might have seen a post-carriage 
drawn up, evidently waiting for travel- 
lers. 

The time went on to nine. The rec- 
tor and his wife sat over the fire, the for- 
mer shivering, for he had caught a vio- 
lent cold. “ I suppose you have some 
nitre in the house?” he suddenly ob- 
served. 

“ Really — I fear not,” answered Mrs. 
Leicester. “ But I can send for some. 
Will you touch the bell ?” 

“ Is Benjamin in ?” demanded Mrs. 
Leicester of the maid who answered it. 

“ No, ma’am. Master said he was to 
go and see how Thomas Shipley was, 
and he is gone.” 

“ Then tell Martha to put her bonnet 
on. She must fetch some nitre.” 

“ Martha is not come in, ma’am, since 
she went out to take Miss Leicester.” 

“ No !” uttered Mrs. Leicester, in sur- 
prise. “ Why, that was at six o’clock. 

I wonder where she is stopping.” 

Benjamin came in, and was sent for 
the nitre, and soon Martha’s voice was 
heard in the kitchen. Mrs. Leicester 
ordered her in. 

“ Martha, what do you mean by stop- 
ping out without leave ?” 

“ Betsy has been on at me about it in 
the kitchen,” was the girl’s reply. “ But 
it is Miss Ellen’s fault. She told me I 
might have a few hours for myself.” 

“ When did she tell you that ?” de- 
manded Mrs. Leicester, doubting if El- 
len had said it. 

“ When we came to Piebald Corner. 
Mr. Castonel was standing there, and he 
said he would see Miss Ellen safe to 
Mrs. Chavasse’s, and it was then she^ 
told me.” 

The rector looked up, anger on his 
face. 

“ Did you leave her with Mr. Casto- 
nel?” 

“ Yes, sir, I did.” 

“ Then understand, Martha, for the 
future. If you go out to attend Miss 
Leicester, you are to attend her. You 


42 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


have done wrong. It is not seemly for 
Miss Leicester to be abroad in the even- 
ing without one ot her own attendants. ’ 

“ Now, this has finished it,” he con- 
tinued to his wife, as the girl withdrew. 
“ Ellen shall not go there again unless 
you are with her. Mr. Castonel ! how 
dared he ? I would rather Ellen made 
a companion of the poorest and lowest 
person in the village. And should there 
be any engagement growing up between 
him and Frances, I will not have Ellen 
there to countenance it with her pres- 
ence.” 

“Poor Mr. Winninton prejudiced you 
against Mr. Castonel,” observed Mrs. 
Leicester. “I do not admire or like 
him, but I think less ill of him than you 
do. Perhaps Frances might do worse.” 

The clergyman turned his head and 
looked at her. “ I will ask you a home 
question, Susan. Would you like to see 
him marry Ellen ?” 

“ Oh no, no !” and Mrs. Leicester al- 
most shuddered as she spoke. “ Not for 
worlds.” 

“ Yet you would see him the husband 
of Frances Chavasse ; your early friend’s 
child !” 

‘ Mrs. Leicester hesitated before she 
spoke. “ It is that I hope to see Ellen 
the wife of a religious man, a good man, 
and I fear Mrs. Chavasse does not heed 
that for Frances. She looks to social 
fitness, to position, to Mr. Castonel’s 
being in favor with the world. But El- 
len — no, no, I trust never to see her the 
wife of such a man as Mr. Castonel.” 

The minister covered his face with 
his hands. “ I would rather read the 
burial service over her.” 

When Benjamin returned, he was 
dispatched for Miss Leicester, and told 
to make haste. But he came back and 
said Miss Leicester was not there. 

“ Not there !” exclaimed the rector. 
“ Why, where have you been for her? I 
told you to go to Mrs. Chavasse’s.” 

“ That’s where I have been, sir.” 

“ Then you have made some stupid 
blunder. She must be there.” 

“ I don’t think I made the blunder, 
sir,” returned Benjamin, who was a sim- 
ple-spoken man of forty. “ When I told 
’em I had come for Miss Ellen, one of 


their maids joked, and said then I had 
come to the wrong house, but she took 
in the message, and Mrs. Chavasse came 
out to me. She said as they had ex- 
pected Miss Ellen to tea, and waited for 
her, but she did not come.” 

Nothing could exceed the indigna- 
tion of the rector. Where was Ellen ? 
Where could she be gone ? Was it pos- 
sible that Mr. Castonel had persuaded 
her to go visiting any where else ? In 
spite of his wife’s remonstrances, who 
assured him he was too ill to go, and 
would catch his death, he turned out in 
search of her ; and Mrs. Leicester, wor- 
ried and angry, laid all the blame upon 
Martha, who immediately began to cry 
her eyes out. 

Before noon the next day, Ebury was 
ringing with the elopement of Mr. Cas- 
tonel and Ellen Leicester. 


CHAPTER X. 

“when the cat is away, the mice will 

play” AND A TIGER IS A SPECIES OF 

CAT. 

During the absence of the runaways, 
John had very little to do, in spite of 
the threats of Mrs. Muff. But if John 
had not much to attend to in a legiti- 
mate way, he made himself business in 
a highly improper fashion. For the 
youth was highly curious, tormented 
with a thirst for forbidden knowledge, 
and a desire to discover any thing that 
might be in the nature of a secret. He 
opened all the out-of-the-way drawers 
of the laboratory — in this case, however, 
with another object. Mr. Rice was very 
apt to put the liquorice-root, of which 
John was excessively fond, in strange 
places, to keep it from his jaws? His 
visit to the drawers was more on that 
account. 

There was one place into which John 
was very anxious to peep, namely, Mr. 
Castonel’s desk ; but it was always kept 
locked, and the surgeon carried the key. 
The old-fashioned secretary, where the 
greater part of Mr. Castonel’s papers 
were kept, was another object of curis 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


43 


osity ; bat the key of this was with the 
other key, on a ring ; and the ring was 
in his master’s pocket. John’s curiosity 
was ungratified, and his fondness for 
discovery met no reward. 

One day, during his master’s absence, 
John went into the laboratory to get 
the medicine ordered by Mr. Rice for 
the day’s patients. The assistant was 
absent. John cast his eyes on the desk. 
No one was looking, and he tried the 
lid, but it was immovable. 

“ I would like to see inside of it,” he 
said. “ Why, look here,” he continued, 
“ if master has’nt been and gone and 
left a piece of one of his private papers a 
sticking out from a crack. Here’s a 
queer go.” 

A doubled slip of paper that pro- 
truded from between the lid and the 
body of the desk, occasioned John’s 
surprise. He tried to work it out, but 
it was caught by something. He perse- 
vered, and had got it one-third out, by 
the corner, when it parted in his hand. 
He bad only obtained less than one half 
of an old envelope. He thrust it hur- 
riedly into his pocket, and, seizing the 
medicine, left the house. 

So soon as he came to a place free 
from observation, John examined his 
prize. His countenance fell. 

The postmark was there — Cartington, 
in Shropshire — and all the rest was as 
follows : — 

“ To 

Lady Lavinia 

No. 13 Watexl ” 

“Very provoking !” exclaimed John. 
“ If I could have got it all. Hallo ! 
here’s a piece of the letter inside. But 
that’s only a corner, and has but a few 
words, and I can’t make head nor tail 
of ’em. ‘ Lady Lavinia !’ I wonder 
what kind of a lady. It ain’t a baron- 
knight’s lady, I know ; and what is 
master a doing with it? That’s the 
question.” 

Much as he undervalued this prize, 
John put it carefully away in his pocket. 
If Mr. Castonel were ever to find it out ! 
John shivered at the thought, and came 
very near dropping his basket, whereby 


several bottles would have come to 
speedy grief. 

When John got back his first busi- 
ness was to conceal his plunder in a 
place no one would be apt to look into 
but himself. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE WIFE HAS A PREMONITION OF HER 

FATE. A FULFILLED PRESENTIMENT. 

Mr. and Mrs. Castonel, returned to 
Ebury, and the whole place flocked to 
pay them the wedding visit. The dis- 
obedience of Ellen Leicester was no 
business of theirs, that they should 
mark their sense of it. And Ellen — 
had it not been for the recollection of 
her offended parents and the unjusti- 
fiable part she had acted — how supreme, 
how intense, would have been her hap- 
piness ! Her whole existence lay in her 
husband ; she could see no fault in 
him ; and could they then have tasted 
of the Tree of Life, so that the present 
might be forever, she might have given 
up all wish of a hereafter. Amongst 
the visitors, went Mrs. and Miss Cha- 
vasse ; and, whatever mortification 
might have been in their hearts, it was 
not suffered to appear ; that would 
never have done. So Mrs. Chavasse 
contented herself with abusing, else- 
where, the somewhat faded furniture, 
and thanking fate that her daughter had 
not been taken to a home so carelessly 
appointed. 

Months went by, and how felt Ellen 
Castonel ? Why, the fruits of her con- 
duct were beginning to come home to 
her. She had received the forgiveness 
of her parents, for when she went to 
them in prayer and penitence, and knelt 
at her father’s feet, the minister, though 
he strove hard to spurn her away ac- 
cording to his resolution, yet he was en- 
feebled in health, enfeebled by sorrow, 
and it ended in his falling on her neck, 
with sobs of agony, and forgiving her. 
It had been well could he as easily have 
forgotten. In these few months he had 
become a bowed, broken man. His 
hair had changed from brown to gray, 


44 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


and it was rumored that he had never, 
since, enjoyed a whole night’s rest. 
Could this fail to tell on Ellen ? who, 
excepting that one strange and unac- 
countable act, had always been a gentle, 
loving, obedient daughter. She watch- 
ed it all, and knew that it had been her 
work. Moreover, there were arising, 
within her, doubts of Mr. Castonel— 
whether he was the idol she had taken 
him to be. She was also in bad health, 
her situation causing her a never-ceasing 
sensation of illness. She looked worn, 
haggard, wretched ; curious comments 
on which went about Ebury ; and the 
people all agreed that Mrs. Castonel did 
not seem to repose on a bed of roses. 

“ There’s a row up-stairs,” exclaimed 
the tiger to Hannah, one day in April. 
“ Missis is sobbing and crying buckets 
full, and master has been a blowing of 
her up.” 

“ How do you know ? Where are 
they ?” said Hannah. 

“ In the drawing-room. I went up 
to ask what medicine was to go out, 
but they were too busy to see me. I 
heard master a roaring as I went up the 
stairs, like he roared at me one day, and 
nearly frightened my skin otf me. It 
was something about missis going so 
much to the parsonage ; she said it was 
her duty, and he said it wasn’t. She was 
lying on the sofa, a sobbing and moan- 
ing awful.” 

“ I think you must have peeped in,” 
cried Hannah. “ For shame of you !” 

“ In course I did. Would’ nt you ? 
Oh dear no, I dare saj not ! Master 
was kneeling down then, a kissing of 
her, and asking her to forget what he’d 
said in his passion, and to get herself 
calm, for that it would do her unknown 
harm. And he vowed if she’d only 
stop crying, that he’d take her hisself 
to the parsonage this evening, and stop 
the whole of* it with her 

“ What is that you are saying ?” 
sharply demanded Mrs. Muff, putting 
her head into the kitchen. 

“ I was a telling Hannah she’d best 
sew that there button on my best livery 
trousers, what came off ’em last Sundav, 
or she’d get her neck pulled,” answered 
the lad, vaulting away. 


Whether the tiger’s information was 
correct, and that excitement was likely to 
have an injurious effect upon Mrs. Cas- 
tonel, certain it is, that the following 
day she was seized with illness. The 
nature of it was such as to destroy 
hopes of offspring, and precisely similar 
to that which had preceded the death 
of the first Mrs. Castonel. 

“What an extraordinary thing !” 
cried Mrs. Chavasse, when the news 
reached her ; “ it looks like fatality. 
Caroline had been six months married 
when she fell ill ; and now in just the 
same period of time, Ellen falls ill ! I 
hope she will not follow her fate out 
to the last, and die of it.” 

“ For the matter of that, we never 
knew what the first Mrs. Castonel did 
die of,” returned Mrs. Major Acre, who 
was sitting there. “ She was recover- 
ing from her sickness ; indeed, it may 
be said that she had recovered from it ; 
and she went off suddenly one evening, 
nobody knew with what.” 

“ Mr. Castonel said it was perfectly 
satisfactory to medical men,” said Mrs. 
Chavasse. “ There are so many danger- 
ous tricks and turns of maladies, you 
know, only clear to them.” 

For several days Ellen Castonel was 
very ill. Not perhaps in absolute dan- 
ger, but sufficiently near it to excite ap- 
prehension. Then she began to get 
better. During this time nothing could 
exceed the affection and kindness of 
Mr. Castonel : his attention was a mar- 
vel of admiration, allowed to be so, even 
by Mrs. Leicester. 

One afternoon, when she was dressed 
and in her drawing-room, Mrs. and Miss 
Chavasse called. They were the first 
visitors who had been admitted. Fran- 
ces offered to remain the rest of the day, 
but Mrs. Chavasse overruled it : Ellen 
was not strong enough, she said, to bear 
so many hours’ incessant gossiping. 

Mr. Castonel came in while they sat 
there. He was in high spirits, laughed 
and talked, almost flirted with Frances, 
as in former days, when she had errone- 
ously deemed he had a motive in it. 
When they left, he attended them to 
the door, gay and attractive as ever in 
the eyes of Frances; and she pondered 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


45 


how Ellen could ever appear sad with 
such a husband. Mr. Castonel then 
went into his laboratory, where he busied 
himself for half an hour. When he re- 
turned up-stairs, Ellen was in tears. 

“ Don’t be angry with me, Gervase. 
This lowness of spirits will come on, 
and I cannot help it. I fear it is a bad 
omen.” 

Mr. Castonel turned away his head, 
and coughed. 

“ An omen of what, Ellen ?” 

“ That I shall never recover.” 

“You have recovered. Come, come, 
Ellen, cheer up. I thought Mrs. Cha- 
vasse’s visit had done you good.” 

“ Last evening, when I sat by my- 
self for so many hours, I could not help 
thinking of poor Caroline. I wondered 
what it could be she died of, and ” 

“ Ellen !” burst forth Mr. Castonel, 
“it is wrong and wicked to encourage 
such absurd thoughts. You asked me 
the other day, when you were lying ill, 
what it was she died of, and I explained 
it. It is not going to occur to you.” 

“ No, no,” she answered, “ I am not 
really afraid. It is only in the dull even- 
ing hours, when I am alone, that I get 
these foolish fancies. If you could be 
always with me, they would not come. 
Try and stay with me to-night, Ger- 
vase.” 

“ My darling, I have not left you one 
evening since you were ill, till the last, 
and then it was not by choice. I know 
of nothing to call me forth to-night. 
Should any thing arise unexpectedly, I 
must go, as Rice is away. In that case, 
I should tell Muff to remain with you.” 

She still wept silently. It seemed 
that her spirits had sunk into a low 
state, and nothing just then could arouse 
them. Mr. Castonel stood and looked 
down at her, his elbow leaning on the 
mantel-piece. 

• “Would you like Mr. and Mrs. Leices- 
ter to come this evening?” he asked. 

“ Oh !” she cried, clasping her hands 
and half rising from her chair, the pal- 
lid hue giving place to crimson on her 
lovely face, and the light of excitement 
rising in her sweet blue eyes — “ oh, 
Gervase, if you would but let me ask 
them ! Papa has never been here to 


stay an evening with me : he would 
come now. It would do me more good 
than every thing else. T jideed I should 
not have these fears thei .” 

He went to a table arid wrote a brief 
note, putting it into Ellen’s hands to 
read. It was to the effect that his wife 
was in low spirits, and much wished 
them both to come to tea and spend the 
evening with her. 

“Thank you, thank you, dearest Ger- 
vase,” she exclaimed, “ you have made 
me happy. Oh, papa !” 

“ Ellen,” he said, gazing into her eyes, 
“ confess. You love your father better 
than you do me.” 

“ You know to the contrary, Gervase. 
I love him with a different love. I left 
him for you,” she added, in a low, al- 
most a reproachful tone, as she leaned 
forward and hid her face upon her hus- 
band’s arm, “ and people say that it is 
killing him.” 

The tiger was dispatched with the 
note to the parsonage, and brought back 
a verbal answer that Mr. and Mrs. Leices- 
ter would soon follow him. 

They both came. They sat with El- 
len and her husband. Mrs. Leicester 
made tea ; and for once Ellen was hap- 
py. There appeared to be more social 
feeling between her husband and father 
than she had ever hoped for, and a joy- 
ous vision fleeted across her of time 
bringing about a thorough reconcilia- 
tion, and of their all being happy to- 
gether. She laughed, she talked, she 
almost sang ; and Mr. and Mrs. Leices- 
ter inquired what had become of the 
lowness of spirits spoken of in Mr. Cas- 
tonel’s note. He answered pleasantly 
that their presence had scared it away, 
and that if they did not mind the 
trouble of coming out, it might be well 
to try the experiment again on the fol- 
lowing evening ; he could see it was the 
best medicine for his dearest Ellen. 
They promised to do so, even Mr. 
Leicester. Especially, he added, as he 
must now leave almost directly. 

The glow on Ellen’s face faded. 
“ Why leave, papa ?” 

“ My dear, there is a vestry meeting 
to-night, and I must attend it. Your 
mamma can stay.” 


46 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


“ Will you not return when it is 
over ?” resumed Ellen, anxiously. 

“ No. It i£ll not be over till late. 
It is likely to .('• a stormy one.” 

“But you; Jr / come to-morrow? 
And remain ;ger?” she feverishly 
added. 

“ Child, I ,bave said so.” 

“Upon aiw condition — that she does 
not excite herself over it,” interposed 
Mr. Castonel, affectionately laying his 
hand upon his wife’s. “Add that pro- 
viso, sir.” 

“ Oh, if Ellen is to excite herself, of 
course that would stop it,” returned the 
rector, with a smile. The first smile his 
countenance had worn since her disobe- 
dience. 

Ellen saw it, and her heart rose up in 
thankfulness within her. “ Dearest 
papa,” she whispered, leaning towards 
him, “ I will be quite calm. It will be 
right in time between us all : I see it 
will. I am so happy !” 

At seven o’clock they heard the little 
bell tinkle out, calling together the mem- 
bers of the select vestry, and Mr. Leices- 
ter took his departure. His wife re- 
mained with Ellen, Mr. Castonel also ; 
nothing called him out ; and they spent 
a happy, cordial evening. When she 
rose to leave, Mr. Castonel rang the bell 
for Mrs. Muff to attend her. He would 
not leave Ellen. 

“ What nonsense !” said Mrs. Leices 
ter. “ As if any one would run away 
with me ! I shall be at home in five 
minutes. I need not trouble Mrs. 
Muff.' 

“ It will do Muff good,” said Ellen. 
“She has never stirred out since my 
illness. And then, mamma, she can 
bring back the receipt you spoke of.” 

“Good-night, my dear,” said Mrs. 
Leicester, stooping to kiss her. “ Do 
you feel yourself better for our visit?” 

“ I feel quite well, mamma,” was 
Ellen’s joyous answer. “ Nothing what- 
ever is the matter with me now. Only,” 
she added, laughing, “ that I am a little 
thirsty.” 

“ That is soon remedied,” said Mr. 
Castonel. “ I will get you some wine 
and water, Ellen.” 

“ How thankful I am to see your 


mistress so much better,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Leicester, as she and Mrs. Muff 
walked along. 

“ Ma’am, you cannot be more thank- 
ful than I am. I have been upon thorns 
ever since she was taken ill. Poor Mrs. 
Castonel — I mean Miss Caroline — 
having been cut off suddenly by the 
same illness, was enough to make me 
fearful.” 

“ Poor Caroline !” sighed Mrs. Leices- 
ter, with more truth than caution, “ I 
wish she had lived.” 

“ She is better off,” was the reply of 
the housekeeper. “ There is nothing 
but crosses and cares for us who are 
left. I hope, ma’am, you and Mr. 
Leicester will come in often now. You 
can have no conception of the effect it 
has had upon ray mistress to-night : she 
is a thousand pounds nearer being 
well.” 

Mrs. Leicester turned to her. “ Do 
you think Mr. Castonel makes her a 
good husband ? You and I, Mrs. Muff,” 
she added, in a tone which seemed to 
bespeak apology for herself, “ knew 
each other years before this stranger 
ever came near the place, and I speak 
to you as I would not to others. He 
seems affectionate, kind, but — what do 
you think?” 

“ I cannot answer you, ma’am,” re- 
plied Mrs. Muff, “ I wish I could. Be- 
fore us he is all kindness to her ; and 
yet — I don’t know why it should be, 
but I have my doubts of its being sin- 
cere. I force the feeling down, and say 
to myself that I was set against Mr. 
Castonel at the first, through the injury 
he did my old master. I had my doubts 
in the same way of his sincerity to his 
first wife. And yet, I don’t notice it 
in his manners to other people.” 

“ Does he go to see that — person 
now T ?” asked Mrs. Leicester, lowering 
her tone. 

“ Well, ma’am, I can’t say. All 1 
know is, that the other — servant, or 
whatever she may be — who lives with 
her, was at our house lately.” 

“ Indeed !” 

“ It was a night or two before my 
mistress was taken ill. There came a 
quiet knock at the door. John was 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


47 


out, and Hannah was up-stairs, turning 
down the beds, so I answered it my- 
self. She asked for Mr. Castonel. I 
did not know her in the dusk, and was 
about to show her into the study, where 
master sees his patients, but it flashed 
over me who it was; and I said Mr. 
Castonel was not at liberty, and shut 
the door in her face.” 

‘*Was Mr. Castonel at home f” 

“ He was in the drawing-room with 
my mistress. And I believe must have 
seen her from the windows, for he came 
down-stairs almost directly, and went 
out.” 

“ Did Ellen — did Mrs. Castonel see 
her f” breathlessly inquired Mrs. Leices- 
ter. 

“ Ma’am, I have my doubts she did. 
No sooner was Mr. Castonel gone, than 
the drawing-room bell rang, and I went 
up. It was for the lamp. While I 
was lighting it, my mistress said, ‘ Muff, 
who was that at the door ?’ 

“ That put me in a flutter, but 1 
gathered my wits together, and an- 
swered that it was a person from the 
new pork-shop — for of course I would 
not tell her the truth.” 

“ ‘ What did they want ?’ asked my 
mistress. 

“ ‘ Brought the bill, ma’am,’ said I. 
For luckily the new pork people had 
sent in their bill that day. And I took 
it out of my pocket, and laid it on the 
table by her. 

“ ‘ What could the person want, 
walking before the house afterwards, 
and looking up at the windows ?’ then 
questioned my mistress. 

“ ‘ Quite impossible for me to tell, 
ma’am,’ I said ; and I won’t deny that 
the question took me aback. ‘ Perhaps 
they wanted a little fresh air, as it’s a 
warmish night, and the street is open 
just here !’ ” 

“ Was that all that passed ?” demand- 
ed Mrs. Leicester. 

“That was all. Mr. Castonel was 
not in for two hours afterwards, and I 
heard him tell my mistress he had been 
out to a most difficult case. I’ll be 
whipped if I believed him.” 

“ Is he out much in an evening ?” 

“ Yery often, he used to be, before 


my mistress was taken ill. He is al- 
ways ready with an excuse — it’s this 
patient, or it’s that patient, that wants 
him and keeps h*?m. But I never 
remember Mr. Winnrh+on to have had 
these evening calls up oh his time.” 

They reached the parsonage, and 
entered it. The houses 3eper was to 
take back the receipt for seme particu- 
larly nourishing jelly, > vMch Mrs. 
Leicester had been recommending for 
Ellen. It was not immediately found, 
and Mrs. Muff sat with her in the par- 
lor, talking still. The rector came in 
from the vestry meeting, and she rose 
to leave. 

Conscious that she had remained 
longer than was absolutely needful, 
Mrs. Muff walked briskly home. She 
had gained the door, and was feeling 
in her pocket for the latch-key, she pos- 
sessing one, and Mr. Castonel the other, 
when the door was flung violently 
open, and the tiger sprang out, for all 
the world like a tiger, very nearly up- 
setting Mrs. Mutt', and sending her 
backwards down the steps. 

“You audacious, good-for-nothing 
monkey !” she exclaimed, giving him a 
smart box on the ears. “You saw me 
standing there, I suppose, and did it 
for the purpose.” 

“ Did I do it for the purpose ?” re- 
torted John. “You just go in and see 
whether I did it for the purpose. I’m 
a-going to get the horse, and tear off 
without saddle or bridle for the first 
doctor I can fetch. It’s like as if Mr. 
Rice had took his two days’ holiday 
just now, a purpose not to be in the 
town !” 

He rushed round towards the stables, 
and Mrs. Muff entered. Hannah met 
her with a shriek, and a face as white 
as ashes. “ Mrs. Castonel ! — Oh ! Mrs. 
Castonel !” was all she cried. 

“ What is it ?” asked the terrified 
Mrs. Muff. 

“ It is spasms, or convulsions, or 
something of the sort,” sobbed Hannah, 
“ but I’m sure she’s dying. She’s 
writhing just as Miss Caroline did. I 
am sure she is dying.” 

Once more, as connected with this 
history, rang out the passing-bell of 


48 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


Ebury. And when the startled inhab- 
itants, those who were late sitters-up, 
opened their doors, and strove to learn 
who had gone to their reckoning, they 
shrank from the answer with horror 
and dismay. 

“ The young, the beautiful, the second 
Mrs. Castonel.” 

And again a funeral started from the 
house of the surgeon to take its way to 
the church. But this time it was a 
stranger who occupied the clergyman’s 
chariot. Mr. Leicester’s task was a 
more painful one ; he followed as second 
mourner. Many people were in the 
churchyard, and, their curiosity was 
intensely gratified at witnessing the 
violent grief of Mr. Castonel. The 
rector’s emotion was less conspicuous, 
but his feeble form was bowed, his 
steps tottered, and his gray hair 
streamed in the wind. On the conclu- 
sion of the ceremony, Mr. Castonel 
stepped into the mourning coach, 
solemnly to be conveyed home again at 
a mourning pace ; but the rector passed 
aside, and entered the parsonage. The 
sexton, a spare man in a brown wig, 
was shovelling in the earth upon the 
coffin and shedding tears. He had 
carried Ellen many a time over the same 
spot when she was a little child. 


CHAPTER XII. 

ANOTHER STRANGER COMES TO EBURY, 
AND SEEMS TO BE ON THE LOOK-OUT 
FOR INFORMATION. 

A week after the funeral of the second 
Mrs. Castouel (Ellen Leicester, that had 
been), Ebury had a victor. Visitors 
were never plenty in the place, and the 
advent of a stranger broke the monot- 
ony of village life, and gave rise to a 
deal of comment. In this case, however, 
there was more than ordinary cause for 
the tongues of the gossips to wag ac- 
tively, and from Mrs. Major Acre, down, 
they all had employment. 

The stranger was a man to set conjec- 
ture at defiance. He was a very well- 
dressed personage, indeed, with quiet 


and refined manners, and an air of ease 
and self-possession which betokened an 
assured position. On the other hand, 
it was to be noticed that he lodged at 
the little village inn, that be brought no 
letters to any one in the place, was at- 
tended by no body-servant, and his lug- 
gage consisted of a dressing-case, a port- 
manteau, and an umbrella. As for his 
name, that was his own property, which 
he seemed ready to surrender to no one; 
and his business seemed to be his own 
also, which he kept in his exclusive pos- 
session. Ebury was in that part of 
England known in old times as Mercia, 
where the law had been centuries before, 
that every stranger in coming was oblig- 
ed to blow a horn and proclaim his busi- 
ness, on pain of being considered a 
thief ; and though the people of Ebury 
did not carry out the custom of their 
forefathers to the harsh letter, they con- 
sidered the reserve to be very suspicious, 
at least. There w r as one comfort — he had 
an ample store of money for his pres- 
ent purposes. The landlord of the inn 
was convinced of that by actual demon- 
stration, arid the conviction partly satis- 
fied the publican, though he would fain 
have known more of his mysterious 
guest. 

But if the stranger was reticent in 
regard to his own affairs, he was curious 
enough about those of other people. At 
first, he asked no questions, and sat 
dreamily enough, either in his own 
chamber or the tap-room, where occa- 
sionally he descended to smoke a curi- 
ous looking red pipe, with a reed stem, 
and to read the newspaper. The second 
day after his arrival he chanced to look 
through the window, as Mr. Castonel 
emerged from the recesses of his cab, 
and entered the door of a house on the 
opposite side of the way. 

The stranger summoned the landlord. 

“Mr. Jenks,” said he, “does the 
owner of that cab live in the house yon- 
der?” 

“ The owner of that cab, sir ? oh, no, 
sir. That is Mr. Castonel, sir, the sur- 
geon of these parts, sir. He has gone 
there to see a patient, sir.” 

“ Mr. Castonel. Is that his name ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


49 


“ Does his wife live with him ?” 

“ Oh, no, sir ! She died a week ago. 
Yon see he is in mourning. She was a 
very fine woman, sir.” 

“ Dead !” 

The tone of the stranger had in it so 
much of horror and despair, that the 
landlord looked at him in surprise. The 
other threw off the feeling, if any such 
existed, by an effort, and in an indiffer- 
ent way put another question. 

“ Of what disease did she die ?” 

“ I don’t quite know, sir. The other 
wife died in the same way. It was a 
sort of convulsions, as I heard, sir.” 

“ The other wife ! Then he was mar- 
ried a second time ?” 

“ Yes, sir — to the rector’s daughter. 
It was a runaway match, sir. Miss Leices- 
ter, a very pretty young lady, indeed.” 

“ And the first wife died in the same 
way ?” 

“ Yes, sir, so it is said. She was 
Miss Hall, Mr. Winninton’s niece. Mr. 
Winninton was our apothecary when 
Mr. Castonel came here to settle. Mr. 
Castonel first took his practice, and then 
he took his niece. It quite broke the 
old man’s heart, sir, and he never held 
his head up afterward, sir.” 

“ Mr. Castonel was a widower then, 
when he came here ?” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know, and not 
knowing, can’t say, sir. Nobody knows 
much about him here. May-be his cou- 
sin could tell, sir; but she never sees 
anybody to say any thing to.” 

“ His cousin ?” 

“ Y es, sir, if she is his cousin. Some 
say she’s a sister-in-law. She lives at 
Beech Lodge, just out of town. She is 
quite the lady, sir; every one says that, 
who ever saw her. To be sure, when 
she first came here people used to talk 
harsh-like about lfer and him; but she 
is so much the lady, and he’s such a 
proper gentleman, that, it all died away 
— anyhow, pretty much.” 

u And he’s a proper gentleman, eh ?” 

“ Oh, quite, sir, quite. A little gay 
tmong the ladies, perhaps. They do 
►,ay that Mary Shipley — but that is gos- 
eip. Women will talk, sir; they’ve noth- 
ing else to do, some of ’em. There’s 
my wife, sir” (here the cautious land- 
3 


lord’s voice sank to a whisper), “ she 
never could abide Mr. Castonel, and she 
says that Mary Shipley is not the only 
one ; but I never saw any thing myself, 
never.” 

“ And this cousin lives alone, you 
say ?” 

“ Yes, sir — no, sir. She has a servant, 
a very quiet woman — never has a word 
for any one.” 

The stranger pursued his questioning 
until he had obtained a description of 
the female recluse, and then inquired 
particularly about the precise location 
of Beech Lodge. Having received an 
accurate description of the spot, he dis- 
missed the landlord, and quietly finished 
his pipe alone. 

That afternoon, rather late, the stran- 
ger strolled leisurely out of the village. 
On arriving in front of Beech Lodge, he 
glanced around, and seeing no one in 
view, crossed the road, and tapped at 
the door of the cottage. 

The servant girl who came at the 
summons, stared at the visitor in sur- 
prise. Without noticing this, he in- 
quired for her mistress. 

“ She is in, sir ; but she is not at home 
to any one.” 

Without replying, he pushed her 
aside, and entered the house. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A MYSTERIOUS INTERVIEW BETWEEN 
TWO MYSTERIOUS PERSONS. 

The woman, whose name and posi- 
tion were so much of a mystery to 
Ebury, was seated at a work-stand, with 
a tambour-frame before her, busily en- 
gaged in embroidery, as the stranger 
entered. She did not hear his ap- 
proach, and it was not until she felt a 
light touch on her shoulder that she* 
looked up. In an instant she started 
to her feet, dropping her work, while 
her face was covered with an almost 
death-like pallor. 

“ You here !” she exclaimed. “ Do 
you know that he ” 

“ Oh, yes,” he interrupted ; “ I know 


50 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR. 


it. But it strikes me that he is playing 
a very strange game ; and for what pur- 
pose, or to what end, is not very clear. 
But, why you endure it, is a puzzle 
still more startling.” 

“ You know my promise, and yours ?” 

“ Oh, I am here by the merest acci- 
dent. I only returned from America a 
short while since. By way of rest, I 
came to what I thought the quietest 
quarter of England. Here I found him, 
and from the description I had of a 
lonely woman, supposed I should find 
you. I learned enough to-day from 
my gossipy landlord to see that our 
friend ” — he laid a bitter emphasis on 
the last word — “ is — as they say among 
the Yankees — cutting a broad swathe. 
I can see why you make no audible de- 
mur to his proceedings ; but, why 
remain here at all ?” 

“ I dare not do otherwise. But go — 
go — if he should meet you !” 

“Let him meet. It is possible that 
he may meet me, before I leave Eng- 
land.” 

“ Avoid him, Richard, for your own 
sake — well, then — for mine !” 

“Lavinia, that is an adjuration I 
cannot well resist.” 

“ Yes, for my sake, go !” 

“ I will ; but if his ty ranny becomes 
so insupportable that you can bear it 
no farther, let me know it. I will give 
you my address, and you can write to 
me by the first packet.” 

The woman wrung her hands in 
agony. 

“ 1 dare not. Go at once. He may 
come at any moment. If he be pro- 
voked, you do not know him as well as 
I, he would stop at nothing. I have 
tried in every way — have offered every 
thing ; but I cannot bend him, or alter 
his purpose. Ah ! you don’t know 
how inflexible he is !” 

“ But, what is it I hear about these 
women-Mbese wives of his — their mys- 
terious deaths ?” 

“Don’t ask me — it is too fearful; 
and yet it is only suspicion. Would you 
destroy me ? Is that the return for all 
I have suffered — all I suffer ? He has 
those letters — I am in his power. It 
would not hurt you , but ” 


“ I understand your reproach. 1 
will go, Lavinia. I leave England in a 
week; but I shall return again to re- 
main here in defiance of him. I will 
see then if there be no means to rescue 
you, without risk to yourself. Good- 
by.” 

He bent over her, and before she 
could divine or resist his purpose, 
kissed her forehead. He then went 
out. 

The woman stood there, rooted, as it 
were, to the spot. The blood which 
had receded from her face, now rushed 
back in a full tide, covering face, neck, 
and arms, with a deep crimson flush. 
She passed to the window, and looked 
out at the stranger, who strode on 
without turning. A bend in the road 
hid him from sight, and then the woman 
tottered to a chair into which she sank, 
sobbing passionately. 


CHAPTER XIY. 

THE COMING OF THE NEW CURATE, AND 
HIS PRIVATE ENGAGEMENT. 

A young and somewhat shy-looking 
man was making his way down the 
street of a country village. He appear- 
ed to be a stranger, and his clerical 
coat and white neckcloth betokened his 
calling. It would seem he was in 
search of some house that he could not 
readily find, for he peered curiously at 
several through his spectacles as he 
passed them. As he neared d one, a 
handsome house with a green verandah, 
a cab, painted black, came dashing up, 
stopped, and there descended from it a 
gentleman and his servant in the deepest 
mourning. The stranger approached 
the master, and courteously touched his 
hat. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, “ can 
you obligingly point out to me the 
rectory ? I understood it to be some- 
where here.” 

“ At the end of the street, five 
minutes lower down. Opposite the 
church.” 

“ This end of the street ?” resumed 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


51 


the stranger, pointing to the way he had 
been jourfi eying. 

“ i’ll show the gentleman which it 
is,” cried a fine, boy of fourteen, who ap- 
peared to be growing out of his jacket. 

“ What, is it you, Arthur ?” said the 
owner of the cab. “ Where did you 
spring from ?” 

The young gentleman had sprung 
from behind the cab, but he did not 
choose to say so. “ I say, sir,” he ex- 
claimed, slipping the question, “ you 
have not seen mamma anywhere, have 
you ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Oh, well, it’s not my fault. She 
told me to meet her somewhere here as 
I came home from school, and she’d 
take me to have my hair cut. Old 
Brookes did not do it to please her 
last time, so she said she’d go and see 
it done. Now, sir,” he added to the 
stranger, “ I’ll show you Mr. Leices- 
ter’s ? ’ 

They walked along together. “Do 
you know,” said the boy, suddenly 
looking at his companion, “I can guess 
who you are? You are the new cu- 
rate.” 

The stranger smiled. “ How do you 
guess that ?” 

“ Because you look like it. And we 
know Mr. Leicester had engaged one ; 
the other did not suit. lie is too ill now 
to do it all himself. Mamma says she 
is sure he won’t live long. Do you 
know Mr. Castonel ?” 

“ No. Who is Mr. Castonel ?” 

“ Why, that was Mr. Castonel, and 
that was his cab. Did you see how 
black they were ?” 

“Yes. He appeared to be in deep 
mourning.” 

“ It is for his wife. She was so 
pretty, and we all liked her so. She 
was Ellen Leicester, and Mr. Castonel 
ran away with her, and she died. That 
was last spring, and it’s since then that 
Mr. Leicester has got so ill. His first 
wife died too.” 

“Whose first wife?” returned the 
stranger, scarcely making sense of the 
boy’s tale. 

“ Mr. Castonel’s.” 

“ Are you speaking of the gentleman 


of whom I inquired my way ? He looks 
young to have had two wives.” 

“ He has, though. He is a doctor, 
and has all the practice. He keeps two 
assistants now. Do you know Mr. 
Tuck?” 

“ I do not know any one in Eburv.” 

“ Oh, don’t you ? There’s Mr. Leices- 
ter’s,” added the lad, pointing to a 
house, lower down, as they came to a 
turning in the street. “ And now I 
have shown it you, I must go back, 
for if mamma comes and I don’t meet 
her, she’ll blow me up.” 

“ I thank you for bringing me,” said 
Mr. Hurst. “ I hope we shall soon be 
better acquainted. Tell me your name.” 

“ Arthur Chavasse. I am to be what 
you are. A parson.” 

“ Indeed. I hope you will make a 
good one.” 

“ I don’t know. Last week when I 
sent the ball through the window and 
gave Lucy a black eye, papa and mam- 
ma were in a passion with me, and they 
said I had too much devil in me for a 
parson.” 

“ I am sorry to hear that,” was the 
grave answer. 

“I have not got half the devil that 
some chaps have,” continued Master 
Arthur. “ I only leap hedges, and climb 
trees, and wade streams, and all that. I 
don’t see what harm that can do a fel- 
low, even if he is to be a parson.” 

“ I fear it would seem to point that 
he might be more fitted for other call- 
ings in life.” 

“ Then I just wish you’d tell them so 
at home. I don’t want to be a parson ; 
it’s too tame a life for me. Good-by, 
sir.” 

He flew away, a high-spirited gener- 
ous lad ; and the curate — for such he 
was — looked after him. Then he turned 
in at the rectory gate. 

He was shown into the room where 
the Reverend Mr. Leicester and his 
wife were sitting. Two sad, gray-haired 
people, the former very feeble, but not 
with age. Arthur Chavasse had given 
a pretty accurate account- of matters. 
From the time that their only child had 
run away with Mr. Castonel, they had 
been breaking in health ; but since her 


52 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


death, which had occurred six months 
subsequently, the rector may be said to 
have been a dying man. 

There was certainly a fatality attend- 
ing the wives of Mr. Castonel, and he 
appeared to mourn them with sincerity, 
especially the last. His attire was as 
black as black could be : he had put his 
cab in black ; the crape on his hat ex- 
tended from the brim to the crown, and 
he wore a mourning pin and a mourning 
ring with Ellen’s hair in it. He ab- 
stained from all gayety, took a friendly 
cup of tea occasionally with Mr. and 
Mrs. Chavasse, and paid a formal visit 
to the rector and Mrs. Leicester once a 
month. 

The new curate, Mr. Hurst, w r as ap- 
proved of by Ebury. He was possessed 
of an amazing stock of dry, book erudi- 
tion, but was retiring and shy to a fault. 
He took up his abode at the parish 
beadle’s, who let furnished lodgings, 
very comfortable and quiet. One day 
he received a visit from Mr. Chavasse, a 
bluff, hearty, good-tempered man, who 
was steward to the estate of the Earl of 
Eastberry, a neighboring nobleman. 

“I was talking to Mr. Leicester yes- 
terday,” began Mr. Chavasse, shaki no- 
hands, “ and he told me he thought you 
were open to a teaching engagement for 
an hour or so in the afternoons.” 

“ Certainly,” answered the curate, 
coughing in the nervous manner habit- 
ual to him when taken by surprise, “ I 
would have no objection to employ my 
time in that way, when my duties for 
the day are over.” 

“That rascal of a bov of mine, Ar- 
thur — the lad has good abilities, I know, 
for in that respect he takes after his 
mother and Frances, yet there are noth- 
ing but complaints from the school 
about his not getting on.” 

“ Do you not fancy that his abilities 
may lie in a different direction — that he 
may be formed by nature for a more 
bustling life than a clerical one?” the 
curate ventured to suggest. 

“ Why, of course, if he has not got it 
in him, it would be of no use to force 
him to be a parson ; but there’s such ar. 
opening. Lord Eastberry has promised 
me a living for him. Now it has struck 


me that if you would come, say at four 
o’clock, which is the hour he leaves 
school, and hammer something into him 
till half-past five, or six, we might see 
what stuff he is really made of. What 
do you say ?” 

“ I could accept the engagement for 
every evening except Saturday,” an- 
swered Mr. Hurst. 

“All right,” cried Mr. Chavasse. “One 
day lost out of the six won’t matter. 
And now, sir, what shall you charge?” 

The curate hesitated and blushed, and 
then named a very low sum. 

“ If it were not that I have so many 
children pulling at me, I should say it 
was too little by half,” observed the 
straight-forward Mr. Chavasse; “but I 
can’t stand a high figure. My eldest 
son has turned out wild, and he is a 
shocking expense to me. Shall we be- 
gin on Monday '” 

“ If you please. I shall be ready.” 

“ And mind,” he added, “ that you 
always stop and take yonr tea with us, 
when you have no better engagement. 
I shall tell Mrs. Ch avasse to insist on 
that part of the bargain.” 

Thus it came to pass that the Rever- 
end Mr. Hurst became very intimate at 
the house of Mrs. Chavasse. 


CHAPTER XY. 

MARY SHIPLEY TRIES TO MELT THE 
HEART OF MR. CASTONEL. 

The autumn, winter, spring passed ; 
and, with summer, things seemed to be 
brightening again. We speak of Mr. 
Castonel. He discarded his gloomy at- 
tire, his cab was repainted a claret 
color, and he went again into general 
society. Ilis practice flourished"; if he 
had lost his own wives be seemed lucky 
in saving those of other men. Ilis as- 
sistants, like himself, had plenty to do. 
The gossips began to speculate whether 
be would marry again. “ Surely not !” 
cried tlie timid ones, shaking their beads 
with a shudder ; “ who would venture 
upon him ?” 

Mr. Castonel was in bis laboratory. 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


53 


writing, one evening, when John en- 
^d. 

•There’s a patient wants to see you, 

“ Who is it, John?” 

I don’t know, sir. It’s a woman, I 
relieve, but her face is all muffled up. 
3he says she’s got the tooth-ache, and’s 
afraid of catching cold in her jaw.” 

“ Send her in.” 

“ Master says you’re to go in there,” 
was John’s remark to the woman in 
waiting. The latter, who had on a 
light cloak, with a hood, the latter 
thrown over her head, and the front 
of it kept nearly closed with her left 
hand, obeyed his order, and went into 
the room. 

Mr. Castonel recognized her before 
she showed her face. 

“ Now, Mary,” he said, “ what do you 
want to bother me about this time ? Is 
the baby sick ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What appears to be the matter ?” 

“ It’s feverish, and tosses about a good 
deal.” 

u Over-fed, I dare say. I will send 
Mr. Rice to see it in the morning. If 
he reports any thing serious, 1 will attend 
to it myself. A little mild medicine 
will bring it all right again. Well! 
what do you wait for ? What else do 
you want ?” 

“ Oh, Mr. Castonel !” said the girl im- 
ploringly, “ you know what you prom- 
ised.” 

“ Indeed I don’t,” replied the sur- 
geon. “ I have promised a great many 
silly things in my time, I dare say. 
What is the particular promise to which 
you refer ?” 

“ You said that when the child — our 
child — was two years old, you would do 
me right for its sake. It will soon be 
that time.” 

“ Pooh ! pooh ! stuff and nonsense !” 

“You know you did.” 

“Now, do go away, girl. What do 
you come here for, anyhow ? Do you 
really suppose yourself a fit wife for a 
man in my position ?” 

“You thought me fit to be the moth- 
er of your child.” 

“ That’s a different sort of thing.” 


The girl looked at him intently, and 
a dark, red spot burned on her pale 
cheek. In spite of his effrontery, and 
habitual coolness, the surgeon shrunk. 

“ See here I” she said, and the words 
seemed to hiss, in their concentrated 
energy, through her half-closed teeth. 
“ I have a witness of what you said. 
There was some one in the next room, 
just before the babe was born, that heard 
you promise then. She won’t forget what 
you said, if you do. She is ready to 
swear to the words: You owned too 
that you promised me marriage at the 
beginning. Mr. Lennox, the lawyer, 
says it is good ground for an action. 
There now.” 

“ So you have told all to Mr. Lennox, 
then? You are going to try the law, 
eh ?” 

“ No, I didn’t tell him ; but she asked 
him one day, if so and so was the case, 
what could be done, without mentioning 
names, and he said, he did, that he could 
make any man walk up in such a case, 
or pay smartly for it.” 

“ And who is she 

“I shan’t tell you. You’ll find out, 
if necessary, quick enough.” 

He laid his hand gently on her shoul- 
der, and gave a queer smile. 

“ Suppose,” he said, “ I were to marry 
you. YVhere would be your action 
then ?” 

“ Oh, Mr. Castonel !” 

“ Why, you foolish creature, I always 
intended to keep my promise, and I 
would tell your witness so, if she were 
here. Why not ? You know I married, 
because I was forced to do it, from cir- 
cumstances ; but I never cared for any 
one but you. But I could not make 
you my wife in Ebury. It would ruin 
my practice, and bring want to you. I 
will soon be able to wind up my affairs, 
and then we can go to America together. 
There, no one will know your past his- 
tory, or mine, or the child’s.” 

“ If you only meant it, I ” 

“ Of course I do. Look me in the face, 
and see if I am not telling the truth.” 

“ But you married Miss Leicester.” 

“ I was so bound up, I was obliged 
to. I cared nothing for her, and you 
ought to know it. As long as the child 


54 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


is alive, you have a tie on me that I 
can’t break, and have no dosire to. Be- 
sides,” he added, jocularly, “ you have 
that witness always, and Mr. Lennox is 
ready for a job. To be sure, you would 
only get my money, while by waiting 
you would get me.” 

“ But ” 

“Now, don’t fret yourself with 
doubts, „my dear. I will send over 
Mr. Rice to see the little darling. I 
have some writing to do, or I would go 
myself. If it is seriously ill, I will come, 
anyhow. Ah ! if I can only get my affairs 
through here satisfactorily, we will be 
very happy together in a new world.” 

He bent forward and kissed her. 
She burst into tears. 

“x\h, Mr. Castonel! if you only 
mean it.” 

“ I do mean it. You shall see.” 

The girl wiped her eyes, and as he 
talked on, her face cleared. There was 
music in his tones, and her face bright- 
ened. She suffered him at length to 
lead her to the door, where he bade her 
good-by, and she went home happy. 

When she had gone, the surgeon 
laughed a low, singular laugh, as usual. 

“ So,” he muttered, “ you have a wit- 
ness, have you, my lady ? Who can it be ? 
The old dame, I wonder. No matter ! 
The promise was only conditional. We 
shall see. That Scotch lawyer is pok- 
ing his sharp nose into my affairs. It 
may come to the ears of Frances.” 

Mr. Castonel paced to and fro, for 
some time, in thought. 

“It will not do now,” he said, at 
length. “There is no need of haste. 
Plenty of time yet.” 


CHAPTER XYI. 

WHICH TELLS HOW THE CURATE FLEW IN 
THE FLAME, AND GOT SINGED, AND OF 
THE FATE OF A BABE, WITH SOMETHING 
OF TWO LOVE-SCENES. 

The child of Mary Shipley got well, 
but a month or so after it was sick 
again. And this was what came of it. 
One hot afternoon Mr. Rice, one of 


the qualified assistant-surgeons of Mr. 
Castonel, was walking along a field 
path. The growing corn, rising on 
either side of him, was ripening, and 
the gay insects hummed pleasantly. 
He had just quitted a cottage, one of 
an humble row called Beech Cottages, 
situated near. “ Ah, how d’ye do ?” 
cried he. “ A lovely afternoon.” 

“Very.” It was the curate who had 
met him. “ Have you been far ?” 

“ Only to Gaffer Shipley’s. Mr. Cas- 
tonel received some message this morn- 
ing about the child : he did not choose 
to go himself, but sent me.” 

“ Is it ill ?” cried the curate, in a tone 
of alarm. “ It is not baptized. I never 
can get to see the mother about it.” 

“ 111, no. A trifle feverish. The poor 
do cram their children with such un- 
wholesome food.” 

“ I am on my way to Thomas Ship- 
ley’s myself,” observed Mr. Hurst. “ Mr. 
Leicester asked me if I had seen him 
this week, so I thought I’d take a walk 
this way and call upon a few of them. 
Mr. Leicester seems to have a great re- 
gard for that old man.” 

“ A decent man, I believe, he has 
been all his life,” returned Mr. Rice. 
“ And since his daughter forgot herself, 
j people have wished to show him more 
respect than before.” 

“ By the way,” said the curate, “whose 
; is the child ?” 

Mr. Rice laughed. “You had better 
ask that question of Mr. Castonel. I 
don’t know.” 

They shook hands and parted: the 
surgeon proceeding to the residence of 
Mr. Castonel, where he busied himself for 
some little time, making up medicine. 
He had just concluded his task when 
Mr. Castonel entered. 

“ Well,” said he, “ what was the mat- 
ter down at Shipley’s ?” 

“Oh, nothing. Child somewhat fe- 
verish and its bowels out of order. I 
have made up these powders for it. 
They will set it to rights.” 

“And that?” added Mr. Castonel, 
glancing from the powders to a bottle 
of mixture. 

“ For Mrs. Acre. I am off now to 
old Flockaway’s.” 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


55 


As Mr. Rice quitted the laboratory, 
he met the tiger. “ Some medicine to 
go out, John.” 

“ Where to, sir ?” 

“ Mr. Castonel will tell you. He is 
there.” 

John went into the laboratory. “Mr. 
Rice says there’s some medicine to go 
out, sir.” 

Mr. Castonel did not reply immediate- 
ly. He was writing something on a slip 
of paper. 

“Go to the library,” he said, hand- 
ing it to John, “ and inquire whether 
this book has arrived. If so, bring it.” 

“Can’t I take the medicine at the 
same time, sir?” 

“Do as you are bid, and nothing 
more,” rejoined Mr. Castonel. “ Bring 
me the book, if it is there, and then go 
with .the medicine. You see where it 
is for: the mixture to Mrs. Acre’s, the 
powders to Thomas Shipley’s.” 

The tiger went off, whistling, and his 
master remained in the laboratory. But 
when the boy returned, he was no long- 
er there. 

“Hannah !” sang out the lad. 

“ What do you want with Hannah ?” 
demanded the housekeeper, putting her 
head outside the kitchen door. 

“Bid her tell master as the library 
says he never ordered the book at all, 
as they heered on : but if he wants it 
they can get it from London. Perhaps 
you’ll condescend to tell him yourself, 
Madam Muff.” He took up the medi- 
cine as he spoke, and went out again. 

Meanwhile the Reverend Mr. Hurst 
had left the corn-field, and proceeded to 
Gaffer Shipley’s. The Gaffer — as he 
was styled in the village — lay in his bed 
in the back room. A fall from a ladder 
had laid him on it, and he would never 
rise again. Dame Vaughan was in the 
front room, sewing. She had been 
hired to attend the house, during a re- 
cent illness of Mary Shipley’s. “ He is 
asleep, sir,” she whispered, when she 
saw the curate about to enter : “ he 
dropped off just now, and I think it will 
do him good.” 

Mr. Hurst nodded and drew away. 
He was bound to several cottages in 
the neighborhood, so he went to them 


first, and returned afterwards to Ship- 
ley’s. The Gaffer was awake then. 

“ I’m ailing much, sir,” he said. 
“ Give my humble duty to Mr. Leicester, 
and thank him for asking. I’m as hot 
as I can be to-day. My skin feels 
burning.” 

“ Did you tell this to Mr. Rice. He 
might have given you something.” 

“ No, sir, I did’nt. I had dropped off 
asleep when he was here, and Dame 
Vaughan never thought of it. I may 
be better to-morrow, and then I shan’t 
want physic.” 

As the Gaffer spoke, Mr. Hurst saw 
the entrance of Mr. Castonel’s tiger, 
the door being open between the two 
rooms. “ Powders for somebody, Dame 
Vaughan,” said he. “ Who’s ill ?” 

“ This little one,” replied Dame Vau- 
ghan, pointing to the infant on her lap. 

“ That young scaramouch ! I thought, 
perhaps, the Gaffer might be a going to 
walk it.” 

“The Gaffer, poor man, ain’t at all 
well,” said Dame Vaughan. 

“ I say,” resumed the lad, “ where’s 
Mary ? What’s she gone into hiding 
for ? Nobody have set eyes on her this 
age. Give her my compliments, and — ” 

At that moment the boy caught 
sight of Mr. Hurst. It was quite 
enough. He touched his hat, backed 
out and set off home. 

When the curate passed through the 
front room to leave, he stopped and 
looked down at the baby. “ It does not 
appear to be very ill, Mrs. Vaughan.” 

“ No, sir, it’s as live and peart as can 
be, this afternoon. I did not see much 
the matter with it this morning, for my 
own part, only Mary” — she hesitated — 
“ Mary would send to tell Mr. Castonel.” 

“ Where is Mary ?” 

“ She’s up-stairs,” whispered the wo- 
man. “ She made off there, sir, when 
she saw you a coming. Poor thing, she 
don’t like yet to face the gentlefolks.” 

As Dame Vaughan spoke, she was 
opening the packet left by the tiger. 
It contained six small neat white papers, 
which her curiosity led her to examine. 
They disclosed an insignificant portion 
of gray-colored powder. 

“ I know what that is,” she observed ; 


56 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR. 


“ the very best physic you can give to 
a child. Will you please to read the 
direction for me, sir ?” 

One of these powders to be taken 
night and morning. Mary Shipley’s 
infant.’ ” 

“ All, that’s just what Mr. Rice said. 
Thank you, sir. Good day. I’ll tell 
Mary what you say about bringing the 
baby to church.” 

It was then nearly four o’clock, and 
the curate, after calling in at home to 
wash his hands and brush his hair, 
made the best of his way to the house 
of Mr. Chavasse, scarcely knowing 
whether he was progressing thither on 
his head or his heels. ' That house con- 
tained all he could imagine of beauty, 
and goodness, and love. It was his 
world. Had he not been a clergyman, 
he might have said his paradise. 

Arthur was already in the study. 
And when the lessons were over, the 
curate entered the drawing-room, he 
and his fluttering heart. There she was, 
with her graceful form, her fine features, 
and her dark, brilliant eye. To him 
there was but one lovely face on earth, 
and it was that of Frances Chavasse. 

To him she was a perfect contrast. 
Open in manner, ready and pleasant in 
speech, the Reverend Mr. Hurst, when 
he first knew her, could only gaze 
at her through his spectacles with 
amazed admiration. She detected his 
homage ; she soon detected his love ; 
and, true to her vain nature, she gave 
it encouragement. Vanity was Frances 
Chavasse’s ruling passion. She was 
this evening attired in a pink muslin 
dress, very pretty and showy, and when 
Mr. Hurst entered she was standing be- 
fore the chimney-glass, putting some 
fresh-gathered roses into her dark hair. 
That poor beating heart of his leaped 
into his mouth at the sight. 

“ See what I am doing,” she said, 
perceiving his approach in the Mass. 
“ For fun.” 

He took the hand she carelessly ex- 
tended behind ; took it, and clasped it, 
and retained it ; for it had come, now, 
that he no longer strove so arduously 
to conceal his love. 

“ Are they not pretty roses, Mr. 


Hurst ? I got them off that tree by the 
lower garden. You know it. Here s 
just one left. I will give it to you.” 

“And I,” he whispered, taking it 
from her hand, “ will keep it forever.” 

“ Oh,” fcried Frances, laughing, 

“ what a collection you must have, if 
you have kept all I have given you! 
You might set up a museum of dried 
flowers.” 

Arthur ran in, and looked at the 
table, with a blank face. “ Why is tea 
not ready ? It has struck six.” 

“ Mamma has gone out : we shall 
not have tea till she comes home,” 
answered Frances. “ Papa is not come 
in either.” 

“Then I can’t wait,” cried Arthur, 
ruefully. “ I shan’t wait.” 

“ I would faint if I were you,” re- 
torted Frances. “ I know you must be 
famished ; though you did eat enough 
dinner for six, at one o’clock.” 

“ I want to be off* to cricket,” returned 
the lad. “ I shall get my tea in the 
kitchen. What have you been sticking 
those things in your head for ?” 

“For you to admire.” 

“ Ah ! I expect it is for somebody 
else to admire. * Take care, sir,” added 
the boy, significantly ; “ she will flirt 
your heart out, and then turn round 
and say she didn’t mean it.” 

A glimpse of angry passion flashed 
into the face of Frances. But Arthur 
escaped from the room. 

“ Don’t mind him,” whispered the 
curate. “ All boys are the same.” 

“ All are not the same,” said Frances, 
crossly. “Were you the same when 
you were young ?” 

“ I never had a sister,” sighed the 
curate. He drew her hand within his 
arm, and they rambled into the garden. 
He had long been screwing up his 
courage to speak more seriously to her, 
and he thought he would do it now. 

“ I hope I shall not always remain a 
curate,” he began, by way of introduc- 
tion. 

“ I hope not,” assented Frances. 

“ If I were to” — here he was stopped 
by his nervous cough — “to go into 
housekeeping, how much do you think 
it would take ?” 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


57 


“ Housekeeping ! I suppose you 
mean, set up a house and keep ser- 
vants ?” 

“ Yes,” coughed the curate. “ Were 
T lucky enough to obtain a .preferment 
of two hundred a year, would it do ?” 

“ You would have hard work to spend 
it all, you would. Look at that lime- 
tree : pretty, is it not ?” 

“ Not by myself,” returned the 
curate, with a rosy hue on his thin 

cheek. “ If I had one to share it 

with me ?” 

“ That’s another thing,” said Frances, 
with a laugh. “ She might be fond of 
dress and nonsense, as I am, and then 
she would spend you out of house and 
home.” 

“ Oh, Frances,” he murmured, his 
nervous tone giving place to an impas- 
sioned one, as he clasped her hands in 
his, and turned his spectacles lovingly 
upon her face, “ I know I ought not yet 
to speak of it ; but, give me a hope — 
that should the time come when I am 
justified in asking for yon, I shall not 
ask in vain.” 

Frances drew her hands away, and 
speeded towards the iiouse. “ It will 
be early enough to talk of that when 
the time does come,” was her light 
answer. To the simple mind of Mr. 
Hurst it conveyed all he wished for. 

Mrs. Chavasse came in. And scarcely 
had they sat down to tea, when one of 
the servants appeared and said that a 
boy wanted Mr. Ilurst. 

“Don’t disturb yourself!” cried Mr. 
Chavasse, as the curate was rising. 
u Let Nancy ask what he wants.” 

“It is Ned Long, the mason’s boy. 
from Beech Cottages,” said the servant. 

“What can he want?” wondered the 
curate. “ I gave them relief to-day.” 

“ Send him round to the window, 
Nancy,” said Mr. Chavasse, 

A young ragamuffin, in a very dilapi- 
dated state of clothes, was soon dis- 
cerned approaching the large window, 
which was open to the ground. He 
took oft’ an old blue cap, and displayed 
a shock head of light hair. 

“ What is it, Ned ?” cried the curate. 

“ Please, sir,” answered the lad, lift- 
ing his sunburnt, freckled countenance, 


“ I have been to Mr. Leicester’s, and he 
telled me to come and ask whether Mr. 
Hurst was here.” 

“ Well, you see I am,” replied Mr. 
Hurst, with a half smile. 

“ He said, please, as I was to tell you 
what I had telled him, and would you 
go on quick, and he’d get a fly and come 
after, but he was too bad to walk.” 

“ Go where ?” cried the curate. “ To 
Mr. Leicester’s?” 

“ No sir, to Gaffer Shipley’s. He's 
took awful.” 

“ How ? Is he worse ?” 

“He’s a dying, sir; Dame Vaughan 
said I was to say so. He can’t hold 
hisself still on his bed for screeching. 
And the babby’s a dying and a screech- 
ing; it’s on Dame Vaughan’s lap, it is, 
and she says they won’t be alive many 
minutes, and it’s the physic as she give 
’em.” 

They had risen, all of them, and 
gathered round the window, looking at 
the boy. Mrs. Chavasse spoke, in her 
sharp, hasty way. 

“ What is it you are saying, Ned 
Long ? Tell your tale properly. Who 
is it that is dying down at Shipley’s ?” 

“ The Gaffer, ma’am, and the babby.” 

“Both?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“ I never heard of such a thing. You 
must have brought your tale wrong, 
boy.” 

“ Dame Vaughan says as it’s the 
physic.” 

“What physic ?” 

“ I doesn’t know.” 

“ I never saw such a stupid boy ! who 
is to make out what he means ?” irrita- 
bly repeated Mrs. Chavasse, her curiosi- 
ty forcibly excited. “Mr. Hurst 

Why, where’s Mr. Hurst ? He has never 
gone without tasting his tea !” 

He had, and was striding over the 
ground towards Thomas Shipley’s cot- 
tage. A strange scene presented itself 
there. The baby was lying dead, and 
the old man, on his bed, seemed in dan- 
ger of dissolution. “ Whatever is the 
cause of this ?” questioned the curate. 

“ I don’t know what’s the cause,” 
sobbed Dame Vaughan. “I hope no 
blame won’t be laid to me.” 


58 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


It appeared that the Gaffer had had 
his tea at four o’clock, and seemed re- 
freshed and better after it. At six, 
when Dame Vaughan undressed the in- 
fant, she remarked that it appeared so 
well as scarcely to need the powder. 

“ Suppose we give father one of the 
powders f ’ suggested Mary, a modest- 
looking, gentle girl, who, until recent 
events, had been in high favor in the 
village. “ If they are fever powders, it 
might do him good : and it couldn’t do 
him harm, any way.” 

“Ay, sure; it’s a good thought,” 
assented Dame Vaughan. “ We’ll give 
him one to-night and another in the 
morning. This child won’t want ’em all.” 

So they mixed up two powders. 
Giving old Shipley his, first, lest he 
should fall asleep ; and the other to the 
child. Soon after the latter had swal- 
lowed it, it began to scream, and writhe, 
and toss convulsively. Its legs were 
drawn up, and then stretched out stiff, 
while its face, to use Dauje Vaughan’s 
words, was not then the face of a baby. 
The neighbors came flocking in, and, 
suddenly, sounds were heard from Gaffer 
Shipley’s bed : he was screaming and 
writhing like the child. Widow Thorpe’s 
boy was dispatched for Mr. Castonel, 
and another, as we have seen, to Mr. 
Leicester’s. 

The boy, Thorpe, was flying along, 
proud to be of service and full of excite- 
ment, when, by a piece of good fortune, 
which Game Vaughan declared she 
should ever be thankful for, he espied 
Mr. Castonel. “ He was a standing out- 
side the lodge where the strange lady 
lives,” said the boy, afterwards, “ and if 
he had been a waiting for me, he couldn’t 
have been a standing out better.” The 
boy made up to him, panting. “Please, 
sir, will you run down to Gaffer Ship- 
ley’s?” , r 

“ What for ?” asked Mr. Castonel. 

“ They are both a howling horrid, sir. 
Dame Vaughan says it must have been 
the powders as they took.” 

“Both who ?” quickly demanded Mr. 
Castonel. 

“ Mary Shipley’s little ’un and the 
Gaffer, sir. They give ’em a powder 
apiece, and mother says ” 


“ What the !” burst forth Mr. 

Castonel, glaring on the boy. “ Who 
gave one to old Shipley ?” 

Master Thorpe shrank aside. lie did 
not, just then, like the face of Mr. Cas- 
tonel. “Here,” added the surgeon, 
writing a line on the leaf of his pocket- 
book, and tearing it out, “ take that to 
my house. Mr. Rice will give you 
something to bring down. Run all the 
way.” 

The boy ran one way, Mr. Castonel 
ran the other. He flew over the ground 
at his utmost speed and was soon at the 
cottage. The baby was dead : Mary 
was stretched over it, sobbing and cry- 
ing, and the gossips were crying over 
her. 

“ Now, the first thing, a clearance,” 
exclaimed the surgeon, “ and then I may 
come to the bottom of this. Leave the 
cottage, every one of you.” 

He held the door open and the women 
filed out. Then he turned to Dame 
Vaughan. “ Have you any warm wa- 
ter?” 

“ Not a drain, sir,” she sobbed, and 
the fire’s out. It was the powders and 
it couldn’t have been nothing else. Mr. 
Rice must have sent poison in mistake 
for wholesome physic.” 

“ I should think not,” remarked Mr. 
Castonel. “ Let me see those that are 
left. Mary,” he irritably added, “ don’t 
sob and moan in that way ; that will do 
no good. One, two, three, four. Are 
these all ?” 

“All sir,” replied Dame Vaughan. 
“ Six come, and them’s the four what’s 
left.” 

Mr. Castonel carried them in his hand 
through the room where Thomas Ship- 
ley was lying, and went out at the back 
door, which he closed after him, and 
examined them alone in the yard. Pos- 
sibly for the greater light. 

“ There is nothing wrong with these 
powders,” he said when he returned. 
“However, Dame Vaughan, you had 
best take charge of them, lest they 
should be asked for.” 

“ I’ll lock ’em up in Mary’s drawer,” 
she sobbed. “ I know it was the pow- 
ders, and I’ll stick to it till I drops.” 

“ Do so at once. Here, take them. 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


59 


And then go amongst the neighbors and | 
see if you can borrow some warm water. 
If we can get a quart of it down the 
Gaffer’s throat, till what I have sent for 
comes, so much the better. Holloa! 
where are you off to ?” 

“ I thought you told me to fetch 
some warm water,” answered Dame 
Vaughan, arresting her footsteps. 

“ But I did not tell you to leave the 
key in the drawer. The powders are 
perfectly harmless, but it may be as 
well, in justice to Mr. Rice, to let other 
people think so.” 

Mr. Rice and young Thorpe came to- 
gether, full pelt, and it was soon after 
their entrance that Mr. Hurst appeared. 
When the Gaffer had been attended to, 
Dame Vaughan returned to the pow- 
ders. 

“ The powders were all right,” said Mr. 
Rice, “ I’ll stake my life upon it. Where 
are they ? They were only hydrargyrum 
cum creta” lie added, to Mr. Castonel. 

“ I know they were. I have exam- 
ined them.” 

Dame Vaughan unlocked the drawer, 
and put the powders on the table be- 
fore Mr. Rice. He opened all four of 
the papers. The curate, Mr. Castonel, 
and Dame Vaughan, stood and watched 
him. “ These are the powders I sent,” 
he observed. “ They are quite right. 
They are only the common gray powder, 
Dame Vaughan.” 

Dame Vaughan still looked uncon- 
vinced. 

“ Let her take charge of them,” said 
Mr. Castonel. “ It may be more satis- 
factory.” 

“ Is it possible,” interposed the cu- 
rate, “ that the powders can in any way 
have been changed ? — wrong ones ad- 
ministered ?” 

Mr. Castonel turned his eye upon him, 
an eye that looked as if it would have 
liked to strike him, dead as the child. 

“ No, sir,” he coldly said, “ I should 
think it is not possible. Did you wish 
to cast a suspicion on Mrs. Vaughan ?” 

“ Nay,” cried the curate, “ certainly 
not. I would not cast a suspicion upon 
any one. It *was but an idea that oc- 
curred to me, and I spoke it out.” 

Gaffer Shipley recovered, the baby | 


| was buried, and the affair remained a 
I mystery. A mystery that has never 
been positively solved. Other medical 
men, upon being pressed into the in- 
quiry, pronounced the powders to be 
an innocent and proper medicine, fre- 
quently given to children. 

That same night, at the early star- 
light hour, Frances Chavasse was linger- 
ing still in their garden. She looked 
frequently to a side gate, by which 
visitors, who were familiar with the 
house, sometimes entered. It seemed 
that she was restless ; anxious ; impa- 
tient. Whoever she was expecting, he 
kept her waiting long. Was it Mr. 
Hurst ? 

It was not Mr. Hurst who entered ; 
it was Mr. Castonel. What ! were they 
lovers ? Surely yes ; for he strained 
her to his heart, and held her to him, 
and covered her face with his impas- 
sioned kisses : as he had, in other days, 
ay, even in that same garden, strained 
to him Caroline Hall and Ellen Leices- 
ter. Was his love for her genuine ? 
Had it been for his former wives ? No 
matter : theirs had been for him : and 
neither had loved him more entirely 
than did Frances Chavasse. Verily Mr. 
Castonel must have possessed powers 
of fascination unknown to other men ! 
Frances had played herself off iipon the 
unhappy curate, partly to gratify her 
vanity, partly as a blind, for she and 
Mr. Castonel had long had an under- 
standing in secret. 

“ The Reverend Mr. Hurst has been 
explicit to-night,” whispered Frances, 
in a mocking tone. 

“ The fool I” interrupted Mr. Castonel ; 
and the glare of his eye was like it had 
been twice before that evening. Fran- 
ces did not see it ; she was leaning on 
his breast. 

“ He asked me how much it would 
take to keep two,” she went on, laugh- 
ing. “ And would I have him if he 
got a rich living of two hundred a year. 
Gervase, I think, I do think, he will 
nearly die when — when — he knows.” 

“ I hope he will,” fiercely uttered Mr. 
Castonel. “ Frances, the time is draw- 
ing near that I shall speak to your 
father.” 


60 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


CHAPTER XVII. 

OF A TAP-ROOM CONVERSATION, AND A 

HYPOTHETICAL CASE PUT FORWARD BY 

THE BLACKSMITH. 

Mr. Tuck and Mr. Jenks were in 
close confabulation over the London 
paper, a copy of which Mr. Jenks took 
at second-hand. Mr. Tuck did not 
consider it beneath his dignity as as- 
sistant surgeon to drop in, now and 
then, at the Three Pigeons, with the 
jolly frequenters of whose tap-room he 
was a favorite. If he were nobody in 
the estimation of Mr. Castonel; it he 
were looked down upon by the dowa- 
gers as a young man who had failed to 
establish himself in his profession, he 
was nevertheless an oracle to one class, 
and that was the working-men who 
regaled themselves o’ nights with the 
ale and whiskey of Mr. Jenks. 

On this occasion, however, there was 
no one with the two but Strang, the 
master-blacksmith, who was a rising 
man, pecuniarily, arid owned the pre- 
mises whereon stood his house, and his 
workshop — a double affair, for he did a 
bit of wheelwright work occasionally, 
in mending wagons, and tiring wagon- 
wheels. The three were discussing the 
details of a murder trial, with which all 
London was ringing at the time. A 
lawyer, of some note, had been con- 
victed of a series of deliberate murders. 
The victims were clients of his own, 
whose lives he had first insured for 
small sums, in various offices. It was 
not the murders alone, but the inade- 
quacy of motive that puzzled the trio. 

“ Just to think of it,” said the black- 
smith. “He pisoned Jenkins for ten 
poun’. If it had been a thousan’ poun’, 
I could make it out. But where’s the 
temptation of ten poun’ — a bit’o money 
that a man ’d spend in less ’n a year, in 
tobaccy an’ swipes. It’s extrao’nary, 
to say nothink else.” 

‘‘Yes, sir, as you say,. it is extra- 
ordinary,” chimed in the landlord. 
4 And ten pound too, sir. Very strange, 
I must say.” 

“ He don’t seem to’ve made more by 


it than four hundred poun’ altogether,” 
repeated the blacksmith. 

“ Yes, sir, four hundred and ten 
pound,” replied the more accurate 
publican. 

“ I think I have it,” broke in Tuck. 

The rest waited his explanation pa- 
tiently. 

“ He was crazy,” said Tuck. 

“ Ah, yes, I shouldn’t wonder, sir,” 
replied the complaisant Jenks. “Seems 
that would explain it, sir, naturally 
enough. Oh, yes, sir — as you say, he 
was very much crazy, no doubt.” 

“ Crazy !” sneered the blacksmith. 

“ That’s the new dodge, now-a-days. A 
fellow wants money, an’ he’s bound to 
get it, someway. The devil puts it into 
his head to pisen people, an’ he pisens 
’em, an’ they say he’s crazy.” 

“You don’t understand it,” persevered 
Tuck. “ It is what we medical men call 
a homicidal mania. You see there is 
the case of a dog, who goes mad and 
bites everybody he meets — his own 
master first, probably.” 

“Yes — but they kill him — don’t 
they ?” 

“ Ah, but he’s a dog, you know.” 

“ An’ t’other’s worse — yes — worse !” 
cried the blacksmith, bringing down his 
ponderous fist on the table, until the 
glasses danced and reeled as though the 
liquor that had been in them had 
affected their heads — “ a dog has his 
natup*e, an’ can’t help tfyat; but a man 
that’ll pisen another for ten poun’ — he 
ought to have his head on an anvil, air 
me a poundin’ it, with my sledge. That’s 
all !” 

“ But men are crazy in various ways,” 
persisted Tuck. “ I was a good deal in 
a lunatic asylum when I was studying 
medicine, and saw some queer fellows, I 
can tell you. There was one man who 
was just as sensible as you or I, only on 
one thing. He was mad on cats.” 

“ Cats ?” echoed the blacksmith. 

“ Cats, sir,” echoed, with a variation, 
the landlord. 

“ Cats,” continued Tuck. “ He was 
first noticed as having a great hatred of 
them — killing them in every way pos- 
sible. lie wasn’t content with those 
[ that came on his own place, but he’d 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


61 


entice the neighbors’ eats with bits of 
meat, and chop their heads off. At last, 
he got to be a nuisance. They brought 
him up before the magistrates at Bow 
street. He told ’em that it had been 
revealed to him that the devil was going 
about in the shape of a cat, and if he 
happened to hit the right one, there 
would be no devil any more — so he 
intended to keep on. So they began to 
see into his case, and the long and 
short of it was, they put him in the 
asylum.” 

“Well, I don’t know but I’m a little 
crazy that way myself,” replied Strang. 
“ I hate cats. But that’s not pisenin’ 
human bein’s.” 

“ It’s not the poisoning that makes 
me think him crazy. It’s the absence 
of sufficient motive.” 

“ The motive’s the devil — that’s the 
motive,” said the blacksmith. “ Look 
here! There’s Mr. Castonel has lost 
two of his wives. Sposen — I say 
sposen — he had pisened.both of ’em.” 

“Oh, that’s not a supposable thing,” 
replied 'luck, rather shocked at the 
hypothetic case. 

“ I d’ know,” said the other, “ stranger 
things than that have happened. But 
I say sposen he had. Now he didn’t 
never live a cat an’ dog life with ’em, 
that I ever heerd on — they was amazin’ 
fond on him, every one says — an’ he 
couldn't make nothink by it, for neither 
* of ’em had any money. Now would 
you call him crazy, sposen he’d done it.” 

“ Well, I should, most certainly,” 
said Tuck. 

“ I’d do nothink of the kind,” retorted 
the blacksmith. “ I’d say he had the 
devil in him, an’ nothink but the rope 
round his neck would fetch him out. 
That lawyer was no more crazy than 
you are. He got dwellin’ on the idea 
of money till a sovereign was as big as a 
wagon wheel, an’ ten of ’em seemed a 
fortin. That’s the state of the case, Mr. 
Tuck, you may depend on it.” 

“ It may be,” admitted the assistant 
surgeon. 

“ Exactly, as you say, sir, it may 
be,” chorused the landlord, glad to find 
an approximation to one opinion in the 
minds of his guests. 


“ An’ furthermore, likewise,” resumed 
the blacksmith, whose eloquence was 
aroused in a stream, and was carrying 
him along — “ it’s my opinion that half 
the deviltry an’ wickedness of men an’ 
women, that’s in bedlams, is sot down 
to madness, which it isn’t. I had a 
uncle that got cracked in lus upper sto- 
ry — so the doctors said — an’ used to 
tear his clothes to pieces. I noticed 
one thing pretty plain — they was always 
his old clothes.” 

“Did they ever give him any new 
ones?” pointedly inquired Tuck. 

“ Of course they didn’t. What was 
the use, when they know’d he’d tear 
’em up ? New clothes !” 

And the blacksmith fairly snorted at 
the preposterous supposition. . 

“ But you had no mode of compari- 
son, if you didn’t give him the new 
clothes,” responded Tuck. 

“ Allan ?” ejaculated Strang. 

“ I mean that he might have torn the 
new ones too, if he had them.” 

“ Oh ! I know he wouldn’t,” persisted 
the other. 

Like the “because” of a woman, or 
the hammer of an auctioneer, or a de- 
termination of the House of Commons 
to take the main question, this cut off 
all discussion. Could there be a stronger 
reason than the knowledge of a self- 
willed man? What was science, in the 
shape of Tuck — a small specimen, it 
must be granted — to do with such an 
obstacle ? 

Nevertheless, Tuck, though silenced, 
was not convinced. 

As for the landlord, he was in some 
mental distress. After getting his 
guests to a state where he could agree 
with both, to find them now of diverse 
opinions was distressing. Like a good 
diplomatist, he changed the point of 
issue, by the introduction of a pot of 
stout apiece — a parting libation, so to 
speak, to the goddess of harmony. 

“ What a fool that Strang is,” said 
Tuck to himself on his way home. “ To 
even suppose that Mr. Castonel would 
poison anybody. But ‘ sposen,’ as 
Strang says, he had, then he would be 
mad, beyond doubt. But I can’t con 
ceive what put such an illustration into 


62 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


the man’s head. Poison — pooh ! pooh ! 
I won’t even think of it.” 

But he did think of it, at times. The 
idea was so preposterous, that it would 
enter his mind, whether he would or 
not. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

OF A SILLY MOTHER’S DISPLAY, AND 

HOW THE SURGEON, THIS TIME, MAKES 

A GRAND WEDDING. 

One Saturday afternoon, in Septem- 
ber, the Reverend Mr. Leicester sent 
for his curate. It was to inform him 
that he found himself unable to preach 
on the morrow, as had been his inten- 
tion. 

“ Are you worse ?” inquired Mr. 
Hurst. 

“ A little thing upsets me now, and 
I have heard some news to-day, which, 
whether true or not, will take me days 
to get over, for it has brought back 
to me too forcibly, one who is gone. 
Who is that ?” quickly added the rec- 
tor, as a shout was heard outside the 
window. 

“ It is only Arthur Chavasse. I met 
him at the- gate, and he ran in with 
me.” 

“ Let him come in, let him come in,” 
cried Mr. Leicester, eagerly. “ He can 
tell me if it be true.” Mr. Hurst called 
to him. 

“ How are you, sir ?” said Arthur, 
holding out his hand, “ and how is Mrs. 
Leicester ?” 

The rector shook his head. “As 
well, my boy, as we can expect to be 
on this side the grave. Arthur, 
when you shall be as I am, health and 
strength gone, there is only one thing 
will give you comfort.” 

“ And what’s that, sir ?” asked Ar- 
thur, fearlessly. 

“The remembrance of a well-spent 
life : a conscience that says you have 
done good in it, not evil. Good to your 
fellow-creatures, for Christ’s sake, "who 
did so much good for you.” 

“ But are we to have no play ?” in- 


quired Arthur, whose ideas of “ doing 
good,” like those of too many others, 
savored but of gloom. 

“ Ay, play ; play, my boy, while you 
may ; youth is the season for it. But, 
in the midst of it, love your fellow-crea- 
tures; be ever ready to do them a 
kindness; should any fancied injury 
rise up in your heart, whispering you to 
return evil for evil, oh ! yield not to the 
impulse. You will be thankful for it 
when your days are numbered.” 

“ Yes, sir. There’s a boy outside 1 
has gone off with my cricket-bat. It’s 
Tom Chewton. I was goin^ after him 
to give him a drubbing. Perhaps I 
had better make him hand over the bat, 
and leave the drubbing out ?” 

“ Certainly,” replied Mr. Leicester, 
while the curate turned away his head 
to hide a smile. “ Arthur, I have heard 
to-day that you are going to lose your 
sister Frances.” 

“ To lose her !” echoed the boy. 
“ Oh yes, I know what you mean. And 
I am sure it’s true, although Mrs. Fran- 
ces is so sly over it, else why should she 
be having such heaps of new clothes? 
I said to her the other day, ‘ I reckon I 
shall get some rides inside the cab now, 
instead of behind it,’ and she turned 
scarlet and threw a cushion at me.” 

“It is really so, then ! that she mar- 
ries Mr. Castonel !” 

“ He has been making love to her 
this year past, only they did it on the 
sly,” continued Arthur. “/ saw. 
She’s always interfering with us boys : 
we shall have twice the fun when she’s 
gone. Where’s Mr. Hurst ?”' 

“ Take this, Arthur,” cried the rector, 
handing him a fine pear which was on 
the table. “ Good-by, my lad.” 

“ Thank you, sir. Good-by. I’ll 
leave out Tom Chewton’s drubbing.” 

Arthur ran out. Mr. Hurst stood at 
the end of the path, against the iron 
railings. “ Isn’t this a stunning pear ? 

I Why, what’s the matter, sir?” 

“ A spasm,” gasped the curate. 
“ Run off to your playfellows, Arthur.” 

“ Will you eat this pear, sir ?” said the 
b°3h gazing with concern at his white 
face. “ It may do you good. I have 
only taken one bite out of it.” 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


63 


“ No, no, my lad. Eat it yourself and 
run away.” 

Arthur did as he was bid, and the 
miserable clergyman, feeling himself 
what he was, a dupe, dragged his foot- 
steps towards his home. The sun shone 
brilliantly, but the heart’s sunshine had 
gone out from him forever. 

The news took Ebury by surprise. 
What ! marry Frances Chavasse, the 
early friend of his two first wives 1 
Some of them remembered the nonsen- 
sical declaration attributed to Mr. Cas- 
tonel when he first came to Ebury — 
that only one of the three young ladies 
was to his taste, but he would marry 
them all. The “ one” being generally 
supposed to indicate Ellen Leicester. 

The preparations, commenced for the 
marriage, were on an extensive scale. 
The tiger flew one day into the kitchen 
at his master’s, with the news that there 
was a new chariot in the course of con- 
struction, and that he was no longer to 
be a despised tiger in buttons, but a foot- 
man in a splendid livery. 

“ A pretty footman you will make !” 
was the slighting response of the house- 
keeper, whilst Hannah suspended her 
ironing in admiration. 

“ And the new coachman’s to be un- 
der me,” he continued, dancing round 
in a circle three feet wide. “Of course 
I shall have the upper hand of him. 
So don’t you go for to disparage me be- 
fore him, Madam Muff, if you please.” 

“ Did master say he was to be under 
you ?” inquired Hannah. 

“ It’s to be such a gorgeous livery,” 
the tiger went on, evading the question, 
“ lavender and gold, or pink and amber, 
one o’ them two, with spangled vest to 
match. And there’s going to be a new 
lady’s-maid, Mrs. Muff, over you.” 

“ John !” uttered the housekeeper, in 
a tone of warning. 

“ She’s hired o’ purpose,” persisted 
the tiger, dodging out of Mrs. Muff’s 
way, and improving upon his invention. 
“ And the house is to be gutted of this 
precious shabby old furniture, and bran 
new put in, from cellar to garret. The 
beds is to be of silk, and the tables of 
ivory, and the walls is to be gilded, and 
one o’ the rooms is to have a glass floor, 


that Miss Chavasse may see her feet 
in it. I know what — if master is de- 
termined to have her, he’s paying for 
her.” 

He dodged away, for Mrs. Muff’s 
countenance was growing ominous. 
But, setting aside a few inaccuracies, in- 
ventions, and embellishments of his own, 
the tiger’s information was, on the whole, 
correct ; and Mrs. Chavasse and her 
daughter were lifted out of their com- 
mon sphere into one that savored not 
of sober reality. They revelled in the 
fine clothes making for Frances, in the 
luxurious establishment preparing to re- 
ceive her, in the wondering admiration 
of Ebury ; and they revelled in the tri- 
umph over Mrs. Leicester. If her 
daughter had once been preferred to 
Frances, their turn had come now : 
there had been no costly furniture, or 
painted carriages, or superfluity of ser- 
vants prepared for Ellen. 

These preparations, in all their mag- 
nitude, burst, without warning, upon the 
astonished senses of Mr. Chavasse. He 
turned all over in a cold perspiration, 
and went storming into the presence 
of his wife and daughter. Mrs. Cha- 
vasse always, as she expressed it, “ man- 
aged” her husband, consequently she 
had taken her own time for telling him ; 
but it happened that he heard the news 
from another quarter. We allude more 
particularly now to the pomp and show 
contemplated for the wedding-day ; it 
was that raised the ire of Mr. Chavasse. 

“ What a couple of born idiots you 
must be! I have been told Frances is 
going to have four bridesmaids.” 

“ Well ?” 

“ And a thundering heap of noise . 
and parade : horses and carriages, and 
servants and favors ” 

“ Now don’t put yourself out,” 
equably interposed Mrs. Chavasse. 

“ And not satisfied with all that, you 
are going to have flowers strewed up the 
churchyard path for her to walk upon !” 
And his voice almost rose to a scream. 

“ Hadn’t you better have a carpet laid 
down along the street ?” 

“ I did think of that,” was Mrs. Cha- 
vasse’s cool reply. 

“ Goodness be gracious to me ! ' The 


64 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


place will think I have turned fool, to 
sutler it.” 

“Let them,” said Mrs. Chavasse. 
“ Her wedding does not come every 
day.” 

“ I had a misgiving that something 
was going on, I declare I had, when you 
badgered me into asking Lord Eastber- 
ry to give her away,” continued Mr. 
Chavasse, rubbing his heated face. “ I 
wish I hadn’t. What a fool he* 11 think 
me ! A land steward’s daughter marry- 
ing a country surgeon, and coming out 
in this style ! It’s disgusting.” 

“ My dear, you’ll make yourself ill. 
Speak lower. Frances, this is the wrong 
pattern.” 

“And that’s not the worst of it. 
Mrs. Chavasse, listen, for I will be heard. 
It is perfectly barbarous to enact all 
this in the eyes of the rector and Mrs. 
Leicester. I shall never be able to look 
them in the face again.” 

“ You’ll get over that.” 

“Any one but you would have a 
woman’s feelings on the matter. I tell 
you it is nothing less than a direct insult 
to them — a wicked triumph over their 
dead child. You ought to shrink from 
it, Frances, if your mother does not.” 

But poor Mr. Chavasse could get no 
satisfaction from either, though he 
nearly talked himself into a fever. Mrs. 
Chavasse always had been mistress, and 
always would be. Everybody, save Mrs. 
Chavasse herself, thought and knew 
that what she was doing was ridiculous 
and absurd. Even Mr. Castonel dreaded 
the display. But nothing stopped Mrs. 
Chavasse, and the wedding-day rose in 
triumph. It was a sunny day in De- 
cember, less cold than is usual : but 
Ebury was in too much excitement to 
think of cold. Never had such a wed- 
ding been seen there. You might have 
walked on the people’s heads all round 
the church, and in the church you could 
not have walked at all. When the 
crowd saw the flowers on the narrow 
path between the graves — lovely flow- 
ers from the gardens of Eastberry — they 
asked each other what could possess 
Mrs. Chavasse. 

The bridal procession started. The 
quiet carriage of the dean of a neigh- 


boring cathedral city led the way. He 
was an easy, good-natured dean, loving 
good cheer, even when it came in the 
shape of a wedding breakfast, and 
Mrs. Chavasse had manoeuvred to get 
him to officiate, “to meet the Earl 
of Eastberry,” so his carriage headed 
the van. But, ah reader ! whose equi- 
page is this which follows ? It is new 
and handsome, the harness of its fine 
horses glitters with ornaments, the pur- 
ple-and-drab liveries of its servants look 
wonderful in the sun. Mr. Castonel’s 
arms are on its panels, and Mr. Casto- 
nel himself, impervious as ever to the 
general eye, sits inside it. Behind — 
can it be ? yes, it is our old friend the 
tiger, a really good-looking youth in his 
new appurtenances : his dignity, how- 
ever, is somewhat marred by the famil- 
iar nods and winks he bestows upon 
his friends in the crowd. Now comes 
the fashionable carriage of the Earl of 
Eastberry with its showy emblazon- 
ments and its prancing steeds. The 
bride sits in it, with her vanity, and her 
beauty, and her rich attire ; the earl 
(as good-natured a man as the dean) is 
opposite to her, lounging carelessly ; 
Mrs. Chavasse puffed up with pride, 
looks out on all sides, demanding the 
admiration of the spectators; and Mr. 
Chavasse sits with a red face, and does 
not dare to look at all, for he is thor- 
oughly ashamed of the whole affair, and 
of the string of carriages yet to come. 

The intention of Mr. and Mrs. Leices- 
ter to leave home for the day had been 
frustrated, for the rector had slipped 
down some stairs the previous night 
and injured his ankle. They sat at 
home in all their misery, listening to 
the gay show outside, and to the wed- 
ding-bells. The remembrance of their 
lost child was wringing their hearts ; 
her loving childhood, her endearing 
manners, her extreme beauty, her diso- 
bedience , and her melancholy death. 
Verily this pomp and pageantry was to 
them an insult, as Mr. Chavasse had 
said : an inexcusable and bitter mock- 
ery. It was Ellen’s husband that was 
being made happy with another; it 
was Ellen’s early friend who was now 
to usurp her place. Oh, Mrs. Cha- 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


65 


vasse ! did it never once occur to you, 
that day, to read a lesson from the past ? 
You sat by your child’s side, swelling 
with folly and exultation, but did no 
warning, no shadow fall upon you ? 
Already had Mr. Castonel wedded two 
flowers as fair as she, and where are 
they ? No, no ; the imagination of Mrs. 
Chavasse, at its widest range, never ex- 
tended to so dreadful a fate for Frances. 

“ What with weddings and buryings, 
he has played a tolerable part at this 
church,” observed one of the mob, 
gazing after Mr. Castonel. 

Yes he had: but he made the mar- 
riage responses as clearly and firmly as 
though he had never made them to 
others, then lying within a few yards of 
him. He knelt there, and vowed to 
love and cherish her, and when the links 
were fastened he led her out through 
the admiring crowd, over the crushed 
flowers, to the new carriage. John, not 
a whit less vain, just then, than his new 
mistress, held the door open, and 
Frances entered it. She could not have 
told whether her pride was greater at 
taking her seat, for the first time, in a 
chariot of her own, or during the few 
minutes that she had occupied the cor- 
oneted carriage of the Earl of Eastberry. 

More pomp, more display, more van- 
ity at the breakfast, where Frances sat 
on the right hand of Lord Eastberry, 
and Mrs. Chavasse on that of the dean, 
and then the new carriage drew up 
again, with four horses and two post- 
boys, and Hannah, instead of John, 
seated behind it. A little delay, to the 
intense gratification of the assembled 
mob, and Mr. and Mrs. Castonel came 
out and entered it to be conveyed on 
the first stage of their honeymoon. A 
singular circumstance occurred as they 
were whirled along. Leaning over a 
roadside gate, and looking openly at 
the chariot, watching for it, with a 
scornful triumph on her handsome face, 
stood the strange lady who inhabited 
the lodge. She waved her hand at Mr. 
Castonel, and the latter, with a sudden 
rush of red to his impassive counte- 
nance, leaned back in the carriage. 
Frances did not speak : she saw it ; but 
the time had scarcely come for her to 
4 


inquire particulars about his mysterious 
relation. Ere Mr. Castonel had well re- 
covered his equanimity, they flew by 
another gate, and there, peeping only, 
and concealing herself as much as pos- 
sible, rose the pale, sad face of Mary 
Shipley. Mr. Castonel drew back again, 
prances spoke now. 

“ Gervase ! Mary Shipley was hiding 
herself at that gate ; peeping at us. 
How strange ! Did you see her ?” 

“ My dearest, no. I see but you. 
You are mine now, Frances, forever.” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE BETRAYED GIRL FINDS ASSISTANCE 
FOR REVENGE UPON HER WRONGER. 

“ Did you see the grand marriage to- 
day, Mary?” inquired Dame Vaughan 
of Mary Shipley. 

Mary, whose eyes bore the mark of 
recent tears, looked up from her sewing 
work, and nodded assent. 

“ How proud Miss Frances looked, to 
be sure,” continued the old woman ; 
“sitting up in her grand carriage. I 
wonder she ain’t afeard. Two wives a 
dvin’ afore the year’s out, and here’s a 
third to go.” 

“ She looked very happy,” said Mary, 
with a sigh. 

“ Happy ! That’s now. They all look- 
ed happy when they were first married ; 
but wait — she’ll see her trouble too. 
What have you been crying for, I won- 
der?” 

“ I saw some of poor babe’s things, 
when I opened yonder chestof drawers.” 

Ah! there’s more of his work. Well, 
it ’ll all be found out some day, for all 
he’s such a fine gentleman.” 

“ He’s a perjured wretch !” cried 
Mary. “God’s curse ’ll follow him.” 

“ I’d make him pay for his wicked- 
ness to me, if I was in your place, Ma- 
ry ; that’s what I would,” exclaimed the 
dame. “ If he’d only a knowed that I 
overheerd him promise to marry you, 
then I’d ha’ been sure he sent poison to 
the babe. He’s none too good to do it. 
That’s the way, in my opinion, he served 


66 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


his wives. There’s been no good in 
Ebury since he came here, and there 
can’t be none till he goes away.” 

Mary shuddered. For had she not 
told Mr. Castonel that she had a witness 
to his conditional promise. And did she 
not remember his words : “ As long as 
the child is alive you have a tie on me, 
which I cannot break.” But what evi- 
dence ? 

“ I wish I knew,” she murmured. 

“ That’s just what I wish,” said the 
dame: d If I could only get at the rights 
of it, and may-be I can too. There’s 
them behind that intends to look in it.” 

Mary was interested at this. 

“ Who ?” she asked. 

“ Agentleman, and he is a gentleman 
too, and gave me a half-crown.” And 
the old woman triumphantly exhibited 
the silver. 

Mary looked her astonishment. 

“ I’ll tell you,” continued the other. 
“ Don’t you remember my telling you, 
nigh a year ago, about a strange gentle- 
man that was staying at the Three Pi- 
geons ? I did some charing for Mr. 
Jenks then, and I saw him.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, he’s come back. I saw him 
to-day, and he asked after you.” 

“ After me ?” 

“ Yes. He says he wants to inquire 
about the way your little one died ; and 
he is coming here this very night. I 
expect him any moment.” 

“ I can’t see him, dame,” said Mary, 
“ and then father wouldn’t like it.” 

“Best see him,” persisted the old 
woman. 

“ But what good will it do ?” 

“You don’t know what might come 
of it.” 

Mary looked into the fire, and 
thought, while the old woman bustled 
about. Just then there was a rap at the 
cottage door. 

“ Here I am, dame,” said a voice, as 
the door w as opened, and the stranger 
shook the snow' from his hat — “ here I 
am, white as a plum-cake.” 

“ Lor ! so you be. It’s a snowing 
finely, sir. Give me your hat, and take 
a seat. This be Mary Shipley, sir, as 
you were asking about.” 


“ Mary,” said the stranger, “ I must 
see you alone for a few minutes.” 

“You can say anything before the 
dame, sir,” replied Mary. 

“ A very nice old woman, indeed,” 
responded the other, “ but I have rea- 
sons of my own for the request. You’re 
not afraid of me, I hope.” 

“No, sir; but ” 

“ Pray go to — go anywhere,” cried 
he to the dame. “ You’ll know all, Mrs. 
Vaughan, some day, but not now'.” 

The dame said that she’d slip into a 
neighbor’s, and after seeing that old 
Shipley, who was bed-ridden, was asleep, 
she put on her shawl and bonnet, and 
went out. 

A long conversation ensued between 
the parties present. He obtained from 
her the whole details of her child’s sick- 
ness and death ; but she would not ad- 
mit that Mr. Castonel was the father. 
The information gained appeared to be 
satisfactory on the whole; and the stran- 
ger left the place before Mrs. Vaughan 
returned. As he was going, Mary Ship- 
ley put a question. 

“ You aren’t a detective policeman, 
sir — are you ?” 

“ No, my dear ; but no detective po- 
liceman can work up a case half so cer- 
tainly, as a resolute and determined 
man, who has a purpose.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

WHICH TELLS OF ANOTHER SINGULAR 
MIDNIGHT DREAM, IN CHRISTMAS 
TIMES. 

A genial Christmas Eve, bright and 
frosty, and merrily blazed the fire in a 
comfortable kitchen of one of the best 
houses in a country village. It w r as the 
residence of the surgeon, and he was 
out on his wedding tour, having just 
espoused his third wife. 

They were expected home that night, 
and preparations for the following day’s 
feast were active, being presided over 
by the housekeeper, Mrs. Muff, a staid, 
respectable personage, far above the 
gra de of a common servant. She was 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


67 


very busy, standing at the table, when 
the surgeon’s tiger (we must still call 
him so, though he had recently assumed 
the garb of a footman) came into the 
kitchen, drew a chair right in front of 
the great fire, and sat down, as if he 
meant to roast himself. 

“John,” said Mrs. Muff, “I’ll trouble 
you to move from there.” 

John sat on, without stirring. 

“Do you hear?” repeated the house- 
keeper. “I want to come to the fire 
every minute, and how can I do so, 
with you planted there ?” 

“What a shame it is!” grumbled 
John, drawing himself and his chair 
away, for he was completely under the 
dominion of Mrs. Muff. “ Whoever 
heerd of cooking a dinner the night 
afore you want to eat it ? — except the 
pudding.” 

“ I must put things forward, and do 
what can be done : there will be too 
much left for to-morrow, even then, 
with all the Chavasses dining here. 
For I don’t stop away from morning 
service on Christmas Day. I never did 
yet.” 

The tiger screwed up his mouth, as 
if giving vent to a long whistle : taking 
care that no sound of it reached the 
ears of Mrs. Muff 

“You can take the Christmas and 
dress the rooms. Saving enough, mind, 
for the kitchen. And then, John, you 
can lay the cloth in the dining-room, 
and carry in the tea-things.” 

“ There’s lots of time for that,” re- 
turned John. 

“ It has struck eight, and Mr. Casto- 
nel’s letter said nine. Do as I bid 
you.” 

She was interrupted by the sound of 
young voices, rising in song, outside. 

“There’s another set!” cried John, 
indignantly. “ That makes the third 
lot we have had here to-night.” 

“ When they have finished, you may 
look out and bring me word how many 
there are,” said Mrs. Muff 

John left the kitchen, his arms full 
of holly and ivy. Presently he came 
back. 

“There’s no less than five of them 
little devils.” 


Mrs. Muff, with a stern reprimand, 
dived into her pockets, and brought 
forth five halfpence. “ Give them one 
apiece, John.” 

“ If it was me, now, as was missis, 
instead of you, I should favor ’em with 
a bucket of water from a up-stairs win- 
dow,” was John’s response, as he un- 
graciously took the halfpence. “ They’ll 
only go and send others. Suppose 
master and missis and the new carriage 
should just drive up, and find them 
rascallions a squeaking round the door !” 

“Christmas would not be Christmas 
without its carols,” returned Mrs. Muff. 
“ I remember, the first winter you were 
down here, you came on the same er- 
rand to old Mr. Winninton’s, and got a 
mince-pie and a penny out of me.” 

“Ah,” replied John, “but I was a 
young donkey then.” 

It was past ten when the carriage 
rolled up to the door. John flew to 
open it, and Mrs. Muff, in her black silk 
gown and white apron, stood in the 
hall, drawing on her leather mittens. 
Frances, Mrs. Castonel, happy and 
blooming, sprang from the carriage and 
entered her new home. Mrs. Muff led 
the way to the dining-room. It looked 
bright and cheering, with its large fire, 
its blazing lamp, and well-spread table, 
half supper, half tea. “ I will go up- 
stairs first,” said the young bride, “ and 
take these wraps off.” 

Mr. Castonel came in, a slight man 
of middle height, scarcely yet tivc-and- 
thirty, and the tiger followed him. 
“ Well, John,” said he, “ how has Mr. 
Rice got on with the patients ?” 

“ Pretty well, sir. None of ’em be 
dead, and some be well. But they 
have been a grumbling.” 

“ Grumbling ! What about ?” 

“ They say if a doctor gets married, 
he has no light to go away like other 
folks, and that this is the third time 
you have served ’em so. It was gouty 
old Flockaway said the most. He have 
had another attack ; and he was so 
cranky Mr. Rice wouldn’t go anigh him. 
and he can’t abear Mr. Tuck.” 

The surgeon laughed. “ What’s com- 
ing in for tea, John ?” 

“ Some muffins, sir. And Mrs. Muff 


68 


GERVASE CASTONEL ; OR, 


says she knows as that will be one of 
the best tongues you have cut into.” 

“ Fetch in what there is to come. 
It is late ” 

As the tiger withdrew, Mrs. Castonel 
entered. Her husband’s arms were 
open to receive her. “ Oh, G-ervase,” 
she exclaimed, “how kind of you to 
have every thing in such beautiful order 
for me !” 

“ Welcome, a thousand times wel- 
come to your home, my love !” he 
whispered. “May it ever appear to 
you as bright as it does now !” 

Loving words ; loving manner 1 But, 
alas 1 they had been proffered before, 
with the same apparently earnest sin- 
cerity : once to Caroline Hall and again 
to sweet Ellen Leicester. 

“ If you don’t send in them muffins, 
ma’am, without further delay, master 
says he’ll know the reason why,” was 
the tiger’s salutation to Mrs. Muff. 

She was buttering them, and listen- 
ing to Hannah’s account of the journey, 
who had attended Mrs. Castonel. She 
turned to give him the plate, but stop- 
ped and started, for the church bells 
had rung out a joyous peal. 

“ It cannot be midnight !” she ex- 
claimed. 

“ Midnight !” sarcastically echoed the 
tiger. “ It wants a good hour and a 
half o’ that. There’s the clock afore 
you.” 

“ Then what possesses the bells ?” 

“ Well, you be rightly named,” re- 
turned the tiger, “ for you be a muff, a 
out-and-outer. Them bells is for mas- 
ter and missis; not for Christmas. I 
know. The ringers is sitting up, and 
heerd the carriage rattle up the street. 
Hark, how they are a clapping the steam 
on ! They’ll think to get a double 
Christmas-box from master.” 

J ust before Mr. Castonel went to his 
room that night, the bells again struck 
out. They were ringing-in Christmas. 
He stood and listened to them, a pecu- 
liar expression in his unfathomable eyes, 
in his passionless face, whose emotions 
were so completely under control. Was 
he speculating upon what the next year 
should bring forth, ere those Christmas 
bells should again sound ? The next 


year ! The clock struck out : he 
counted its strokes: Twelve! Then he 
took his candle and went up-stairs. 
And the bells began again. 

“ A merry Christmas to you, Frances,” 
he said, as he entered the chamber ; “ a 
merry Christmas, and plenty of them.” 

“ Thank you,” she laughed. “ I think 
it must be good luck to have it wished 
to me the moment it comes in.” 

While she was speaking, a loud sum- 
mons was heard at the house door. It 
was a messenger for Mr. Castonel, from 
one of his best patients. He hurried 
out, and Mrs. Castonel composed her- 
self to sleep. 

A singular dream visited Mrs. Cas- 
tonel. She thought she was spoiling, 
in her girlhood’s days, in her father’s 
large old garden, with her companions, 
Caroline Hall and Ellen Leicester. 
How gay they were, how happy ; for 
.the sense of present happiness was 
greater than ever Frances had ex- 
perienced in reality ; ay, although she 
had married where she passionately 
loved. They were dressed as if for a re- 
joicing, all in white, but the materials 
of her own attire appeared to be of sur- 
passing richness. A table, laid out for 
feasting, was lighted by a lamp ; but a 
lamp that gave a brilliant and unearth- 
ly light, overpowering the glare of day. 
The table and lamp in her own dining- 
room that night had probably given the 
coloring to this part of her dream. 
The garden was not exactly like her 
father’s, either; in form alone it bore 
a resemblance to it ; it was more what 
Frances had sometimes imagined of 
Eden; flowers, birds, light, and the 
sensation of joyous gladness, all were 
too beautiful for earth. The banquet 
appeared to be waiting for them, whilst 
they waited the presence of another. 
He came ; and it was Gervase Castonel. 
He advanced with a smilefor all, and beck- 
oned them to take their places at table. 
A fierce jealousy arose in Frances’s heart : 
what business had he to smile upon the 
others ? But, imperceptibly, the others 
were gone; without Frances having- 
noticed the manner of their departure. 
The old happiness came back again; 
the ecstatic sense of bliss in the present ; 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


69 


and she put her arm within his, to walk 
round that lovely garden. Then she 
remembered her companions, and asked 
Mr. Castonel where they had gone. 
He said he would show her ; and, ap- 
proaching a door in the hedge, pushed 
it open. Frances looked out, and the 
fearful contrast to the lovely spot she 
had quitted, struck the most terrifying 
agony to her breast ; for, beyond, all 
was utter darkness. She shrank back 
with a shudder, but Mr. Castonel, with 
a fiendish laugh, pushed her through, 
and a voice called out, “ To your 
doom ! to your doom !” If his voice, 
it was much altered. Frances awoke 
with the horror, but the most heavenly 
music was sounding in her ears; so 
heavenly, that it chased away her terror, 
and she thought herself again in that 
happy garden. 

She half opened her eyes ; she was 
but half awake, and still were heard the 
strains of that sweet music. Had she 
gone to sleep, and woke up in heaven ? 
for surely such music was never heard 
on earth. It was the thought that oc- 
curred to her , in her half-conscious state. 
The music died away in the air, and 
Frances sat up in bed, and rubbed her 
eyes, and wondered : and just then Mr. 
Castonel returned. “ What is it ?” she 
cried, bewildered, “ what is it?” 

“ The Waits !” replied Mr. Castonel. 
“ What did you think it was, Frances ?” 

“ Only the Waits!” And then, with 
a rushing fear, came back the dreadful 
part of her ominous dream; and she 
broke into sobs, and strove to tell it him. 

But these night-terrors pass away 
with the glare of day ; sometimes pass 
and leave no sign, even in the remem- 
brance. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

WHEREIN THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER 
FINDS IT PROFITABLE TO BUY A LIVE 
TIGER. 

Mr. Castonel’s young footman was 
going along the street, gayly enough, 
thinking of a neighboring lady’s maid, 


whose corkscrew ringlets and taper 
waist had struck his fancy, when he 
felt himself tapped on the shoulder. 

He turned, and saw a stranger. It is 
unnecessary to describe him. He was 
the same who had once before made 
his appearance in Ebury, to the great 
wonder of the wiseacres. 

John touched his hat. His quick 
eye took in the manner and bearing of 
the one before him, and he saw he was 
a gentleman bred. 

“You are Mr. Castonel’s servant?” 
said the other. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ I want to have some conversation 
with you. Can you keep a secret ?” 

J ohn grinned. 

“ If it’s worth my while, sir, I can.” 

“ Very well. Say nothing to any one 
about the matter, but call and see me, 
at the Three Pigeons, to-night, at eight 
o’clock, and I’ll make it worth your 
while.” 

“ Y ery good, sir. Who shall I ask for ?’ 

“ Oh — yes — very well — ask for — for 
Mr. Smith.” 

“ I’ll come, sir.” 

And they parted. 

“ That chap,” said John, as he pur- 
sued his way, “ wants to find out some- 
thing. May-be I know, and may-be I 
don’t. I saw him before, too. If I 
aint mistaken I saw him come out of 
Beech Lodge, once on a time. There’s 
some kind of a lark going on, I’m sure. 

I might tell master, but I wouldn’t 
make much out of that, I know. Mum’s 
the word, and make what I can.” 

Before he went to fulfil his appoint- 
ment with the stranger, he stole up to 
his chamber in the garret, and, from a 
chink behind the mantel-piece, obtained 
the slip of paper which he had got from 
his master’s desk. He had an idea 
it might be useful. Then, after getting 
permission to spend a couple of hours 
abroad, he made his way to the Three 
Pigeons. 

“ Is there a Mr. Smith staying here ?” 
he asked of the landlord. 

“ Yes — he left word if any one called, 
they were to be sent to his room. It’s 
the Blue Parlor, on the first floor. You 
know the way.” 


70 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


Jolin found his way there, and, on 
knocking, was admitted. The stranger 
was there. John stood, hat in hand. 

“ Take that chair, and seat yourself,” 
said Mr. Smith. 

John hesitated. 

“Be seated.” 

John obeyed, and the stranger locked 
the door. 

“ Now, young man, there is a sov- 
ereign. I want to ask a few questions.” 

“Yes, sir — thank you, sir.” 

“ Are you curious about your mas- 
ter’s affairs ?” 

“ Me, sir — oh, no, sir.” 

“You never peer into his drawers, 
or examine his letters, when he is 
away ?” 

John felt his face burn, from the 
words and under the gaze of the strauger, 
but he managed to stammer out a de- 
nial. 

“ Don’t lie. I have paid you for the 
truth. Haven’t you a letter now that 
don’t belong to you ?” 

John looked alarmed. 

“ Don’t be frightened. No harm will 
come to you. Speak out.” 

“ I haven’t any letter, sir — only a bit 
of an envelope, that — that I picked up. 
There is nothing on that — only the 
name of Lady Lavinia.” 

“ Ha ! what do you know of Lady 
Lavinia?” 

“ Nothing, sir — only it’s on the pa- 
per.” 

“ Let me see it” 

John produced it, as though it were 
burning his fingers. 

The stranger’s face brightened as he 
saw it. 

“ Where is the rest ?” he asked. 

“ I don’t know, sir.” 

The stranger produced another sove- 
reign, and laid it on the table before 
him. 

“ It’s in master’s desk, I think.” 

“ Very good — take the money. There 
are two other letters like the rest of this. 
Produce the whole three here, and I’ll 
make those two sovereigns twenty.” 

“ But, if they’re there, sir, they’re 
locked up.” 

“ Can you pick a lock ?” 

“No, sir.” 


“ Your education has been shamefully 
neglected. Can you take an impression 
in wax of the key -bole ?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Well — I’ll show you how. Do that, 
and I’ll have a key made.” 

The stranger took some wax, and 
taught John how to fit the key. 

“Now,” he said, “can you do it?” 

“ I think I can, sir.” 

“ Very good. Take the key-hole — 
not of the desk, but of the secretary, and 
leave it here. Call here, in a week, and 
you will find a note for you, with a key 
enclosed. When you bring me the let- 
ters, I will give you twenty pounds. Do 
not fail, or this scrap of paper may give 
you trouble. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir — I’ll do it, sir.” 

“Very well ; you may go. But first 
listen.” And he gave John some speeial 
instructions. 

John slipped off as expeditiously as 
possible. He was rather frightened, but 
saw that he was in the stranger’s power. 
To be sure, he might confess all to Mr. 
Castonel. He was not sure of his treat- 
ment in that case, and then — the twenty 
pounds. That last weighty argument 
decided him. 

“ It’s worth trying,” he said. 

He did try, and succeeded. The 
stranger was as good as his word. In 
a week’s time the key was ready. 

John watched his time. One day Mr. 
Castonel was called to visit a patient, at 
a distance. Mr. Rice was away, so was 
Mr. Tuck. There w 7 as a deal of sick- 
ness just then. John slid into the labo- 
ratory so soon as his master was gone. 
It was nearly dark, and he was about to 
approach the desk, when he heard the 
footsteps of his master returning. He 
crouched down behind a couple ol 
boxes, in one corner. 

Mr. Castonel glanced around, and 
went to his desk. The key was in the 
lock. 

“ A pretty trick,” said the surgeon. 
He opened the desk, took out a packet, 
and went to his secretary. He unlocked 
this, deposited the papers, and put the 
key in his pocket. Then he went out, 
and locked the laboratory door. 

John was not much annoved at that. 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


71 


He could readily shove back the catch 
from the inside, and he knew he could 
lock it again, for Mr. Castonel always 
left the laboratory key on the sill above 
the door. But time was precious. He 
opened the secretary, found what he 
sought, abstracted the letters from their 
envelopes, and substituted blank sheets 
of paper therefor, as he had been di- 
rected to do by the stranger. He man- 
aged to open the door, found the key 
where he expected it would be, and 
locked the laboratory again. It was 
now dark, and he soon made his way to 
the Three Pigeons. 

The stranger received the stolen let- 
ters with a satisfied smile, read them 
over with apparent satisfaction, and then 
quietly held them in the flame of the 
candle till they lighted, threw them on 
the hearth, and watched them until they 
were entirely consumed. 

“There is your money,” he said to 
John. 

The latter pocketed the bribe, with 
all the treater satisfaction that the evi- 
dence of his guilt had been destroyed. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

AN OLD DOCTOR RETURNS TO EBURY TO 

THE ANNOYANCE OF MR. CASTONEL. 

The heads and eyes of Ebury were 
turned towards a gay and handsome 
chariot that went careering down the 
street, attended by its coachman and 
footman. A lady and gentleman were 
in it, she in brilliant attire ; Mr. and 
Mrs. Castonel were returning their wed- 
ding visits. It stopped at the gate of 
the rectory. 

“Don’t stay long, Frances,” he whis- 
pered to her. “ I always feel frozen 
into stone when I am in the presence of 
those two old people.” 

Mrs. Castonel smiled, and sailed into 
the rectory drawing-room, in all her 
finery ; but she really did, for a mo- 
ment, forget her triumph, when she saw 
the saddened look of poor Mrs. Leices- 
ter, and the mourning robes still worn 
for Ellen. Mrs. Leicester had not oaid, 


as it is called, the wedding visit ; she 
had felt unequal to it ; her card and an 
apology of illness had been her substi- 
tutes. Frances sat five minutes, and 
from thence the carriage was ordered 
to her old home. It encountered Mr. 
Hurst : he took off his hat, and the red 
color flushed his cheek. Frances alone 
returned his bow. 

Mrs. Chavasse was in no pleasant 
temper. She was grumbling at her 
husband, because he had kept the din- 
ner waiting. He was standing before 
the fire, in his velveteen coat and leath- 
er gaiters, warming his frostbitten hands. 

“ I can’t help it,” said he. “ K I were 
to neglect Lord Eastberry’s business, he 
would soon get another steward, and 
where would you all be then ? Y ou have 
been making calls, I suppose, Frances.” 

“ Only at the rectory, papa.” 

Mr. Chavasse turned sharply round 
from the fire, and faced his daughter. 

“ The rectory ! In that trim.” 

Frances felt annoyed. “ What trim ? 
What do you mean, papa ?” 

“ I should have gone in a quiet way, 
to call there,” returned Mr. Chavasse. 
“ Gone afoot, and left some of those gew- 
gaws and bracelets at home. You 
might have stepped in and taken a quiet 
cup of tea with them ; any thing like 
that.” 

“ In the name of wonder, what for ?” 
sharply spoke up Mrs. Chavasse. 
“ Frances has gone just as I should have 
gone.” 

Mr. Chavasse did not continue the 
subject. “ Will you stay and have some 
dinner, Frances ?” 

“ And eat it half cold,” interposed 
Mrs. Chavasse. 

“ I would not stay for the world, 
papa. I have other calls to make, and 
Emily Lomax is coming to dine with 
me afterwards, that we may lay down 
the plans for my ball. It will be such 
a beautiful ball, papa: the best ever 
given in Ebury.” 

“ Mind you have plenty of wax-lights, 
Frances,” advised her mother. 

“ Oh, I shall have every thing ; lights, 
and hot-house plants, and champagne 
in abundance. Gervase lets me have it 
all my own way.” 


72 


G.ERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


“ Do not begin that too soon,” said 
Mr. Chavasse, nodding at his son-in-law. 

“ Where’s the use of contradiction ?” 
laughed the surgeon, as they rose to 
leave : 

“ For when a woman will, she will, depend on't, 

And when she won’t, she won’t ; and there’s an end 
on’t.” 

Frances Castonel was just then the 
envy of Ebury, at least of all who con- 
sidered ease and gayety the only hap- 
piness of life. Parties at home, parties 
abroad ; dress, jewels, equipage, show ; 
not a care clouded her countenance, not 
a doubt of the future fell on her mind ; 
and the shadows, of those who were 
gone, haunted her not. 

One wet day, at an early hour, when 
she was not likely to meet other visit- 
ors, Mrs. Leicester called. She had 
thought, by delay, to gain composure ; 
but it failed her; and, after greeting 
Frances, she placed her hands on her 
face, and burst into bitter tears. 

“You must forgive me, Frances,” she 
sobbed. “ The last time I entered this 
house, it was for the purpose of seeing 
my child in her coffin.” 

Frances felt dreadfully uncomfortable, 
wondering what she could say, and 
wishing the visit was over. As ill luck 
would have it, she had been hunting in 
a lumber closet that morning, and had 
come upon a painting and two draw- 
ings, done by the late Mrs. Castonel. 
One of them bore her name in the cor- 
ner, “Ellen Castonel.” Frances had 
carried them down in her hand, and 
put them on the table, wishing, now, 
she had put them in the fire instead. 

“ These are poor Ellen’s,” exclaimed 
Mrs. Leicester, as her eye fell on them. 
“She did them just before her death. 
I have wondered what became of them, 
but did not like to ask. Would you 
mind giving me one, Frances ? This, with 
her name on it: it is her own writing.” 

“ All, take them all, dear Mrs. Leices- 
ter.” 

“ I would thankfully do so, but per- 
haps Mr. Castonel values them.” 

“ Indeed, no,” answered Frances, 
with inexcusable want of consideration ; 
“ you may depend he has never looked 
at them since they were done. I rum- 


maged them out of an old lumber clos- 
et this morning.” 

Mrs. Leicester took the drawings in 
silence, and then took the hand of Fran- 
ces. “ I am but a poor hand at com- 
pliments now,” she murmured ; “ but I 
entreat you to believe, Frances, that 
you have my best wishes for your hap- 
piness, as sincerely as I wished it for 
my own child. May you and Mr. Cas- 
tonel be happy.” 

About this time, rumors began to be 
circulated in Ebury, that a medical gen- 
tleman, who was formerly in practice 
in it, was about to return. 

“You had better take care of your 
p’s and q’s,” cried old Flockawav one 
day to Mi*. Rice. “ If it’s true that 
Ailsa is coming back, I wouldn’t give 
a hundred a year for the practice that 
will be left for Mr. Castonel.” 

“ How so ?” demanded the assistant- 
surgeon, who had been a stranger to 
the place when Mr Ailsa was in it. 
“ Mr. Castonel is liked here.” 

“Liked in other folks’s absence,” 
groaned old Flockaway, who was a 
martyr to the gout. “ He has had no- 
body to oppose him, so has had full 
swing. But just let Ailsa come, and 
you ’ll see. All Ebury will tell you 
that Castonel is not fit to tie his shoes.” 

“ I suppose there is room for both of 
them.” 

“ There’ 11 be more room for one than 
the other,” persisted the martyr. “If 
a royal duke came and set up doctor- 
ing here, he’d get no custom against 
Ailsa.” 

The news proved true ; and Mr. Ailsa 
and his family arrived at his house, 
which had been let during his absence. 
An unassuming, gentlemanlike man, 
with . a placid countenance. “ Little 
Tuck,” his usual appellation, an under- 
sized little fellow with a squeaking 
voice, who had once been an appren- 
tice under Mr. Ailsa, was the first to 
run in to see him. 

“We are all so glad to see you back, 
sir,” he said, insensibly falling into his 
old, respectful mode of speech. “ Mrs. 
Ailsa is looking well too.” 

“I am well,” she answered. “No 
more need of foreign climates for me. 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


1 3 


But you must have plenty of news to 
tell us about Ebury.” 

“ Oh, law !” echoed little Tuck, “ I 
shan’t know where to begin. First of 
all, I am living here. Second assistant 
to Mr. Castonel.” 

“You had set up for yourself in 
Brenton when I left,” observed the sur- 
geon. 

“Yes, but it didn’t answer,” replied 
Mr. Tuck, with a doleful look. “ I’m 
afraid 1 kept too many horses. So I 
thought the shortest way would be to 
cut it, before any smash came; and I 
sold off, and came over here, and hired 
myself to Mr. Castonel.” 

“ He has played a conspicuous part in 
Ebury, has he not, this Mr. Castonel ?” 

“Yes, he has. He came dashing 
down here from London, with a cab 
and a tiger and two splendid horses; 
and got all the practice away from poor 
old Winninton, and married his niece 
against his will. When Mr. Winninton 
died, folks said it was of a broken 
heart.” 

“ And then she died, did she not?” 
said Mrs. Ailsa. 

“ She did. Mr. Castonel’s next move 
was to run away with Ellen Leicester. 
And she died.” 

“ What did they die of?” asked the 
doctor. 

“ I can't tell,” replied Mr. Tuck. “ I 
asked Rice one day, and he said he 
never knew ; he could not make it out. 
They had both been ill but were re- 
covering, and went off suddenly in con- 
vulsions. And now he has married 
Frances Chavasse.” 

“ I should have felt afraid to try 
him,” laughed Mrs. Ailsa. 

“ Oh, was she though !” responded 
the little man. “ She and her mother 
were all cock-a-hoop over it, and have 
looked down on Ebury ever since. 
They’ll hardly speak to me in the street. 
Frances served out poor Hurst, I’m 
afraid. I know he was wild after her.” 

“ Who is Hurst ?” 

“ The curate. Poor Mr. Leicester is 
no longer able to take the duty. Ellen’s 
running away with Mr. Castonel nearly 
did him up, and her death finished it. 

I fear he is on his last legs.” 


“ What sort of a man is this Mr. Cas- 
tonel ? Do you like him ?” 

“ I don’t. I don’t understand him.” 

“ Not understand him?” 

“ I don’t,” repeated Mr. Tuck, with a 
very decided shake of the head, “I 
don’t understand him. He’s got a look 
of the eye that’s queer. I wish you 
would take me on as assistant, Mr. Ailsa. 
I’d come to you for half what he gives. 
You’ll get plenty of practice back. Peo- 
ple will be glad to return to you ; for, 
somehow, Mr. Castonel has gone down 
in favor. They talk more about that 
strange woman.” 

Mr. Ailsa looked up. “ What are 
you speaking, of.” 

“ Well, when Mr. Castonel first came 
down here, she followed him, and 
brought a maid with her, and she has 
lived ever since in Beech Lodge, Squire 
Hardwick’s gamekeeper’s formerly.” 

“ Who is she ?” 

“ There’s the puzzle. She is young, 
and very handsome, and quite a lady. 
Mr. Castonel gives out that it’s a rela- 
tion. He goes to see her, but nobody 
e'se does.” 

“ Curious !”- remarked Mr. Ailsa. 

“ By the way, you remember Mary 
Shipley, ma’am?” 

“Yes, indeed,” returned Mrs. Ailsa. 
“ Mary was a good girl. I would have 
taken her abroad with me, if she could 
have left her father.” 

“ Lucky for her, if you had, ma’am,” 
was the blunt rejoinder of Mr. Tuck, 
“ for she has gone all wrong.” 

“ Gone wrong i Mary ?” 

“And Mr. Castonel gets the blame. 
But he is a sly fellow, and some people 
think him a lamb. Mary tells nothing, 
but she appears to be sinking into a de- 
cline.” 

“ I am grieved to hear this,” returned 
Mrs. Ailsa. “ Her mother was nurse at 
the Hall when we were children, and 
she named Mary after me.” 

“ It appears to me,” observed Mr. 
Ailsa, arousing himself from a reverie, 
“that your friend, Mr. Castonel, has not 
brought happiness to Ebury, take it for 
all in all.” 

“ He has brought plenty of unhappi- 
ness and plenty of death,” replied Mr 


74 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


Tuck. “I don’t say it is his fault,” 
added the little man, “ but it’s his mis- 
fortune.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

WHEREIN THE THIRD WIFE YIELDS TO 

THE FATE OF HER PREDECESSORS. 

“What a row there is, over this Ail- 
sa !” exclaimed Mr. Castonel, as he sat 
down that same night with his wife. 
“ Tuck looked in just now, dancing mad 
with excitement, because ‘ Mr. Ailsa was 
come, and he had been sitting with him.’ 
Who is Ailsa, pray ?” 

“ You know, Gervase ; you have often 
heard of him lately,” replied Mrs. Cas- 
tonel, answering the letter rather than 
the spirit of his words. “ Every one is 
saying he will take your practice from 
you ; even mamma thinks he will prove 
a formidable rival.” 

“ What is there in him to be formi- 
dable ?” slightingly returned Mr. Casto- 
nel. “ I’ll sew him up, Frances, as I 
did old Winninton.” 

“ If you mean to imply ruin by ‘ sew- 
ing-up,’ I think not,” laughed Mrs. Cas- 
tonel. “ He has a large fortune, and his 
wife is connected with half the great 
people of the county. She was Miss 
Hardwick of the Hall, and the nicest 
girl in the world.” 

“Oh, yes! I know. I remember her, 
a very little girl with curled hair, and 
pantalettes.” 

“ Why, Gervase, I never knew you 
had been here before. You never told 
me that.” 

I never thought to. I was here once, 
when — when I was very young. But 
why did Ailsa leave if he was so popu- 
lar?” 

His wife was sickly and the air of 
Italy and the south of France was good 
for her. How I should like to live in 
Italy. It must be charming.” 

“ Well — if I have good luck you shall 
go there, some day.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Gervase. You are 
so kind. But tell me how you came to 
be here years ago.” 


“Oh, it’s a long story. Some of 
these days when I’ve lots of time, I’ll 
tell you. I have to go to a case to- 
night.” 

“ Don’t be long, dear.” 

“ Of course not — not longer than I 
can help.” 

And off went the surgeon. His wife 
thought it strange that he had not men- 
tioned the case, when he came in. Be- 
side, no one had sent for him during 
that day. But she was soon deep in 
the latest novel, and the matter faded 
from her mind. She never did hear of 
Mr. Castonel’s early days, for matters 
of more importance succeeded. 

The popular opinion as to Mr. Ailsa’s 
success was not groundless ; for of eigh- 
teen patients who fell ill in the next 
three weeks, counting rich and poor, 
seventeen of them went to Mr. Ailsa, 
though he never solicited a single case. 

How the world would get on without 
gossip few people can tell. One day 
Mrs. Major Acre, who was by no means 
a taciturn or a cautious woman, paid a 
visit to Mrs. Castonel. “Now r , my 
dear,” she said to Frances, “ I should 
recommend Mr. Castonel to call Ailsa 
out.” 

Frances glanced at her with an amused 
look. “ Oh, the patients will come back 
to my husband. They will not all stop 
with James Ailsa.” 

“ I don’t mean that,” returned Mrs. 
Major Acre. “ Some stupid people 
have gone over to him, but you can’t 
call a man out for the caprices of others. 
No, my dear. But James Ailsa has 
made very free remarks upon your hus- 
band.” 

“ Indeed!” 

“It seems Mrs. Ailsa has wormed 
out of Mary Shipley who it was that led 
her into mischief — you know the Hard- 
wicks always took an interest in those 
Shipleys — arid Mary has confessed to 
Mrs. Ailsa what she never would to any 
one else.” 

“ And who was it ?” asked Frances. 

“ Mr. Castonel.” 

A vivid fire rushed into the cheeks 
of Frances. 

“ And I hear Ailsa declares that, had 
he been in Eburv at the time, he should 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


75 


have taken upon himself to bring Mr. 
Oastonel before the justices for it. They 
have forbidden her to let him go there 
any more.” 

He does not go there,” cried Fran- 
ces, vehemently. 

“ I wouldn’t take an oath one way or 
the other, but if he does, child, he’d not 
be likely to tell you,” observed the 
senseless old lady. “ There’s no answer- 
ing for men. My dead husband had a 
saying of his own, that he was fond of 
treating his brother officers to, ‘ Do any 
thing you like, boys, but never let the 
women know it.’ Meaning us wives, 
my dear.” 

Frances sat like one stupefied. 

“ And now I am going on to your 
mamma’s, and ” 

“ Oh, pray do not say any thing of 
this to mamma,” interrupted Frances, 
rising in excitement. “She would 

write word to papa, and pray do 

not, Mrs. Acre !” 

“As you please, child. If I don’t, 
other people will. It’s known all over 
Ebury.” 

When Mr. Castonel entered, Frances 
met him with passion. “ You have 
deceived me throughout !” she cried — 
“ you have deceived papa ! And rather 
than be a dupe, I would leave you and 
go home to live again. Papa would not 
let me stay here. I know his sentiments. 
He spoke to me about this very subject, 
and begged me not to marry you till it 
was cleared up. I will not stay here.” 

Mr. Castonel looked, as the saying 
is, taken by storm. “ What on earth is 
the matter, Frances ? I am guilty of no 
deceit.” 

“Equivocation will only make mat- 
ters worse. Oh, I shall go mad ! I 
shall go mad ! To think that people 
should be able to say the same of me 
that they did of Caroline Hall and Ellen 
Leicester !” 

Mr. Castonel’s countenance flushed 
red, and then became deadly pale. He 
faltered forth, rather than spoke — “ And 
what did they say of Caroline and El- 
len?” 

“That you neglected them for others.” 

“ Oh.” The perfectly negligent tone 
of the ejaculation, and the relieved and 


half mocking face, did not tend to calm 
the anger of Mrs. Castonel. 

“ I know the truth now about Mary 
Shipley. It has been disclosed to me 
to-day. Papa questioned you on that 
report himself, and you denied that 
there was truth in it.” 

“ There was no truth in it,” was the 
calm reply of Mr. Castonel. “ Why did 
you not tell me what you meant, before 
exciting yourself thus, Frances ? I could 
have reassured you.” 

We will leave Mr. Castonel to his re- 
assuring. Merely observing that he did 
succeed in his task, and so fully, that his 
wife was ready to go down on her knees 
for having doubted him. Yerily he pos- 
sessed some subtle power, did Mr. Cas- 
tonel. 

June came in, and strange, strange to 
say, news went out to Ebury of the ill- 
ness of Mrs. Castonel. Strange, because 
her symptoms were the same as those 
which had attacked Mr. Castonel’s first 
and second wives, destroying prospects 
of an heir. 

Mrs. Chavasse arrived in hot haste. 
Frances laughed at her perturbation. 
“ Y ou have sent for Mr. Ailsa, of course,” 
said Mrs. Chavasse. 

“ Mr. Ailsa shall attend no wife of 
mine,” w r as the determined rejoinder of 
the surgeon. “ I’ll see his coffin walk, 
first.” 

“ Listen, Mr. Castonel. You have lost 
two wives ; it may have been through 
negligence in not having good advice ; 
I know not. You shall not lose my 
daughter, if I can prevent it. Not an 
hour shall go over without further ad- 
vice.” 

“ Call in any medical man you please, 
except Ailsa,” said Mr. Castonel, “I 
should wish it done.” 

“ You have taken a prejudice against 
him,” retorted Mrs. Chavasse. “ None 
are so desirable, because he is on the 
spot.” 

“ Ailsa shall never darken my doors. 
I will send an express to the county 
town for one or other of the physicians. 
Which will you have ?” 

“Dr. Wilson,” answered Mrs. Cha- 
vasse. “ And meanwhile let Mr. Rice 
come in.” 


V6 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


So it was done. Mr. Rice paid a visit 
to Mrs. Castoncl, and declared she was 
in no danger whatever. 

“ I hope not,” said Mrs. Chavasse. 
“ I think not. But past events are enough 
to terrify me.” 

“ True,” assented Mr. Rice. 

Dr. Wilson came, in the course of the 
day. “No danger,” he said, just as Mr. 
Rice had done. 

The following day, however, Mrs. 
Castonel was worse ; and, the day after 
that, her life was despaired of. Her own 
state of excitement contributed to the 
danger. She woke up that morning 
from a doze, and whether she had dreamt 
any thing to terrify her was uncertain, 
but she started up in bed, her eyes glar- 
ing wildly. Mr. Castonel was then alone 
with her. 

“Oh, Gervase, I am in danger! I 
know I am in danger !” 

“ My dear, no.” For of course it was 
his duty to soothe her. “ Calm yourself, 
Frances.” 

“Oh,” she cried, clasping him in deep 
distress, “ can I be going to die ? Must 
I indeed follow Ellen Leicester? I who 
have thought nothing of death — who 
deemed it so far off!” 

“Be quiet, Frances, I insist upon it,” 
he angrily exclaimed. “You will do 
yourself incalculable mischief.” 

“ What will my doom he ? Gervase, 
do you remember my dream? What 
have I done that I should be cut off in 
the midst of my happiness? But not 
without warning. That dream was my 
warning, and I neglected it.” 

“ Frances ” 

“ Yet what had they done, Caroline 
and Ellen ? Oh, Gervase, save me ! what 
will you do without me ? Save me, save 
me ! Let not this terrible fate be mine.” 

Mr. Castonel strove to hold her still, 
but she shook awfully ; and as to stop- 
ping her words, he might as well have 
tried to stem a torrent in its course. 

“ The grave ! the grave ! the grave 
for me! I who have lived but in pleas- 
ure !” 

“ My dear Frances, what are you rav- 
ing of? If you have lived in pleasure, 
it has been innocent pleasure.” 

“ Oh yes, innocent in itself. If I had 


but thought of God with it, and striven 
to please Him ; and I never did ! There 
lay the sin ; not in the pleasure. Oh, 
save me! Fetch Dr. Wilson. I must 
not die.” 

They calmed her after awhile, and for 
a day or two her life hung upon a thread. 
Then she began to get slowly better. 
But there were anxious faces still, those 
around her bedside, her husband’s, her 
mother’s, good old Mrs. Muff’s; for 
they remembered it was when they were 
apparently recovering, that the first and 
the second Mrs. Castonel had died. A 
few more days, and Frances sat up in her 
dressing-room, gay as ever. All danger 
was really over, and Mrs. Chavasse re- 
turned home. 

“ Gervase,” she said, taking her hus- 
band’s hand, “ what a goose I was to 
frighten myself!” 

“ Ay, you were, Frances. But you 
would not listen to me then, when I told 
you so.” 

“ I may go into the drawing-room to- 
morrow, and see visitors, may I not ?” 

“ To be sure you may.” 

“ Then ring the bell, please. I must 
send Hannah to order me a very pretty 
cap.” 

It was Mrs. Muff who answered it, 
not Hannah. Mr. Castonel left the room 
as she came in. 

“ I am to go into the drawing-room, 
to-morrow,” said Mrs. Castonel. “Do 
you know it?” 

“Yes, ma’am. I heard Mr. Rice say 
you might.” 

“ And admit visitors.” 

“ I did not hear him say that, but I 
should think there’s no reason against 
it,” replied the housekeeper. 

“ So I’ll tell you what I want done,” 
added Mrs. Castonel. “Hannah must 
go to the milliners’ and desire them to 
send me some sitting-up caps, to choose 
one from. If they have none ready they 
must make me one. Something simple 
and elegant. Shall I have it trimmed 
with white ribbons or pink ?” 

Mrs. Muff thought pink, as her mis- 
tress was just now so pale. 

“Yes, pink; nothing suits my com- 
plexion like pink,” cried Frances, all her 
old vanity in full force. “ Send Han- 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


nah immediately. I am impatient to 
try it on.” 

The cap came, but not till night, and 
Frances had a glass brought to her, and 
sat figuring off before it, declaring she 
had never looked so well : if she were 
but a little older, she would take to caps 
for good. Mr. Castonel looked on, and 
laughed at her. 

“ It is getting time for you to be in 
bed, Frances,” he said. “ You must not 
presume too much upon your recovery.” 

“ I am not tired in the least,” she re- 
plied. “ I will not go till I have had 
my supper. I never felt better.” 

“ Do you know who they say is dy- 
ing ?” he resumed. 

“ No.” 

“ Mr. Leicester.” 

“Mr. Leicester!” 

“ It is thought to be his last night. 
So, I hear, is the opinion of his friend 
and chum, Ailsa.” 

Mrs. Castonel did not like the tone. 
“ Poor man ! poor Mr. Leicester !” she 
sighed. “ Well, they have had their 
share of sorrow. How papa and mam- 
ma would have grieved for me : I have 
thought of it since my illness : and we 
are many of us, while Ellen was their 
only child. I wonder who will get the 
living. I hope it will be some nice so- 
cial young parson.” Oh, Frances ! 
worldly wise. 

“ I hope it will be anybody rather 
than Mr. Hurst,” said the surgeon, spite- 
fully. 

“ What happy days we shall have to- 
gether again, Gervase !” she went on. 
“ What should you have done if I had 
died.” 

' “The best I could,” answered Mr. 
Castonel. 

At that moment Mrs. Muff came in 
with the light supper of her mistress, 
and remained with her while she eat it, 
Mr. Castonel descending to his labora- 
tory. As she was carrying down the 
waiter again, a ring came to the door- 
bell, and John brushed past to answer 
it. 

“ Mr. Castonel at home ?” 

“ Safe and sound,” was the tiger’s re- 
joinder, for the applicant was a page in 
buttons, of his acquaintance. 


n 

“ Then he must come as fast as he can 
pelt to missis. She’s in a fit.” 

“ You are wanted at Mrs. Major Acre’s 
directly, sir,” said John, hastily entering 
the laboratory. “ She’s took in a fit.” 

Mr. Castonel had taken out one of the 
little drawers — to John’s amazement. 
For the lad had always believed that 
particular drawer to be a sham drawer. 
There appeared to be a paper or two in 
it, and a phial. The latter the surgeon 
held in his hand, and in reply to the 
message he muttered something, which, 
to John’s ears, sounded very like “Curse 
it !” 

“ I never knew, sir, as that drawer 
opened. I ” 

“ Begone !” thundered Mr. Castonel, 
turning on his servant a look so full of 
evil, that the young man bounded back 
some yards. 

“ Am I to go anywhere ?” he stam- 
mered, not understanding. 

“ Go out and find Mr. Rice,” raved 
his master. “ Send him to Mrs. Acre’s.” 

Scarcely had John departed, when 
there came a second messenger for Mr. 
Castonel. “If he did not go at once, 
Mrs. Major Acre would be dead.” Thus 
pressed, he took his hat and hurried out, 
after waiting a minute to put things 
straight in the laboratory. Mr. Rice, 
however, had arrived at Mrs. Major 
Acre’s, and Mr. Castonel returned home. 

On the next morning, Mrs. Leices- 
ter and Mr. Ailsa stood around the 
rector’s dying bed. He lay partially 
insensible : he had so lain ever since 
daylight. “ Do you not think Dr. Wil- 
son late ?” whispered Mrs. Leicester. 
“ It is half-past seven.” 

“ I expected him before this,” replied 
Mr. Ailsa. “But, dear Mrs. Leicester, 
he can do no good.” 

“ I know it,” she answered through 
her tears. 

At that moment there rang out the 
deep tones of the passing-bell, denoting 
that an immortal soul had been called 
away. One of the chamber windows 
was open, to admit air, and the sound 
came booming in from the opposite 
church. It aroused the rector. 

“ Have my people mistaken the mo- 
ment of my departure ?” he murmured. 


78 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


“ Or is it that one of my fellow-brethren 
is called with me ?” 

Mrs. Leicester leaned over him, and 
gently spoke, her ear having noted the 
strokes more accurately than that of the 
dying man. “ It must be, I fear, for 
Mrs. Acre. It is for a woman.” 

“ I fancy not for Mrs. Acre,” observed 
Mr. Ailsa. “ Mr. Rice left her, last night, 
out of danger.” 

It was striking out now, fast and loud. 
Mrs. Leicester noticed her husband’s 
anxious eye. “ Who goes with me ?” 
he panted — “ who goes with me ?” and, 
just then little Tuck stole into the room, 
with a whitened face. 

“ Who is the bell tolling for ?” asked 
Mrs. Leicester. 

“ For Mrs. Castonel. She died in the 
night.” 

With a sharp cry the rector struggled 
up in bed. What fear, what horror was 
it that distorted his countenance, as he 
grasped Mr. Ailsa’s arm and strove to 
speak? They never knew, for he fell 
back speechless. 

“Oh, where can Dr. Wilson be-?” 
sobbed Mrs. Leicester. “ Why is he 
not here ?” 

“He will not be long,” whispered 
Mr. Tuck. “ He was met outside the 
village, and taken to Mrs. Chavasse. The 
shock has brought on an attack of pa- 
ralysis. Poor Castonel, Rice says, is in 
a lamentable state.” 

“What did she die of?” marvelled 
Mr. Ailsa. 

“ What did the others die of?” re- 
torted Mr. Tuck. “ Convulsions of 
some sort* Nobody knows. I never 
heard of such an unlucky man.” 

He was interrupted by a movement 
from Mbs. Leicester. The minister’s 
spirit had passed away. 


CHAPTER XXYI. 

OF THE BURIAL, AND THE CROW T D, AND 
THE PUBLIC INDIGNATION. 

It was the brightest day possible, and 
the sun shone on Ebury churchyard 
gayly and hotly. The two funerals had 


been fixed for the same day : but not 
intentionally. The bell had tolled from 
an early hour in the morning, out of 
respect to its regretted minister. Mr. 
Leicester’s interment was fixed for ten 
o’clock, Mrs. Castonel’s for eleven ; con- 
sequently, no sooner had the clock 
struck nine, than stragglers began to 
move towards the churchyard, and soon 
they increased to parties, and soon to 
shoals. All Ebury went there, and more 
than Ebury. They talked to one another 
(as if seeking an excuse) of paying the 
last tribute of respect to their many- 
years rector, but there was a more pow- 
erful inducement in their hearts — that 
of witnessing the funeral of Mr. Cas- 
tonel’s wife, and of staring at him. 

All the well-dressed people, and all who 
possessed pews, entered the church, till 
it was crammed in every nook, scarcely 
leaving room for the coffins to pass up 
the aisle. The mob held possession of 
the churchyard, and there was not an 
inch of land, no, nor of a grave, but 
what was alive with feet. 

They saw it file out of the rectory and 
cross the road, a simple funeral, Mr. 
Hurst officiating. The coffin was borne 
by eight laborers, old parishioners, and 
the mourners followed with many 
friends, Squire Hardwick of the Hall 
and Mr. Ailsa walking next the rela- 
tives. And so the body was consigned 
to the ground, and the traces of the 
first funeral passed away. 

But what was that, compared with 
the show which followed ? With its 
mutes, and its feathers, and its black 
chariots, and its hearse, and its mourn- 
ing coaches, and its velvet trappings, 
and its pall-bearers, and its training- 
scarfs and hatbands, and its white hand- 
kerchiefs ! The mutes alone, with their 
solemn faces and sticks of office, struck 
dumb the fry of infantry who had con- 
gregated amongst their elders. 

“ Look at him ! look at him !” whis- 
pered the mob as Mr. Castonel fiioved 
up the path by slow degrees after the 
body, the beadle and sexton clearing the 
way with difficulty. “Don’t he look 
white ? His handkerchief, as he’s a 
covering his face with, ain’t whiter.” 

“ Enough to make him. He- ” 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


79 


“ Hush-sh-sh ! See who’s a following 
of him ! It’s Mr. Chavasse. A sob- 
bing like a child, for all he be such a 
great stout gentleman !” 

“ But Mr. Chavasse were still in 
foreign parts, and knowed nothing o’ the 
death !” 

“ They sent him word, I heered. And 
he come over the sea in a carriage and 
six, to be in time for it, and got here at 
half-after nine this morning. How he’s 
a crying !” 

“ And his eldest son a walking with 
him, and Master Arthur and the other 
behind, all a crying too. Poor things !” 

“ It seems but yesterday that Miss 
Chavasse come here in Lord East- 
berry’s carriage, like a queen. Who so 
proud as she, in her veils and her fea- 
thers ?” 

“ Queens die as well as other folks. 
It’s said Mrs. Chavasse won’t be long 
after her. She have had a shocking 
seizure.” 

“ Well, it’s a fearsome thing for the 
poor young lady to have been cut off so 
sudden.” 

“ It were as fearsome a thing for the 
other two. And worse. For Miss 
Chavasse might have took warning by 
them, and not have had him.” 

“ I know what I know,” interrupted 
Dame Vaughan, who made one of the 
spectators. “That I should like to 
clear up what it was as did cut ’em 
off.” 

Murmurs were arising amongst the 
crowd. “ Ay, what was it ? what took 
’em ?” 

“ What took that baby of Mary Ship- 
ley’s, as was a lying safe and well on my 
knee two minutes afore it went into the 
agony ?” persisted Dame Vaughan. “ I 
have not forgot that, if others has. The 
physic I give to it was supplied from 
Mr. Castonel’s stock.” 

“ I heerd,” broke in a young girl, 
“as this Mrs. Castonel died of convul- 
sions.” 

“So they all did, so they all did. 
The wretch ! the mur ” 

“ Come, come, you women,” inter- 
rupted a man, “ this ain’t law nor gos- 
pel. Keep civil tongues in your heads.” 

But the cue had been given, the 


popular feeling arose, and hisses, groans, 
and ill words were poured upon Mr. 
Castonel. He could not look whiter or 
more impenetrable than he had done 
before, but he doubtless wished the 
beadle put to the torture for not 
forcing a passage quicker, that he might 
get inside the church. As soon as that 
object was attained, the beadle rushed 
back amongst the crowd, and used his 
tongue and his stick vigorously ; and 
what with that, and his formidable 
cocked hat, he succeeded in enforcing 
silence. 

So Frances, Mrs. Castonel, was laid 
in her grave, like unto the two fair 
dowers who had gone before her, and 
the procession returned, in its course, 
and disappeared. And the mob disap- 
peared in its wake, after winding up 
with three groans for Mr. Castonel. 

Mr. Castonel had looked around at 
the crowd, before he got into his car- 
riage to return home, and his glance had 
taken in, quick as it was, the many 
whose eyes glared at him so savagely. 
But there was one face which he had 
not seen. Its owner had been pretty 
busy too. lie had gone from one to 
another in the crowd before Mr. Cas- 
tonel came, and with a hint here, and 
a fierce whisper elsewhere, had excited 
the popular mind almost to madness. 
It was the mysterious stranger whom 
no one knew, and who always, when he 
came to town, staid at the Three 
Pigeons. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

SUSPICION AND DISTRUST ENTER THE 
MIND OF A BEREAVED FATHER. 

A gentleman who had attended the 
funeral of the rector made his way, as 
the mob dispersed, towards the resi- 
dence of Mr. and Mrs. Chavasse, the 
parents of the ill-fated young lady just 
interred. It was Mr. Ailsa. He had 
been called in to Mrs. Chavasse ; for the 
fearful shock of her daughter’s death 
had brought on an attack of paralysis. 
The medical men had no fears for her 


80 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


life, but they knew she would remain 
a paralyzed cripple ; that she had sud- 
denly passed from a gay, middle-aged 
woman, to a miserable, decrepid old 
one. 

As Mr. Ailsa was passing down the 
stairs from her chamber, a door was 
pushed open, his hand was grasped, 
and he was pulled into the darkened 
parlor. It was by Mr. Chavasse, who 
tried to speak, but failed, and, sitting 
down, sobbed like a child. It was the 
first time they had met for years ; for, 
since Ailsa’s return, Mr. Chavasse had 
been away in Scotland, examining into 
some agricultural improvements, with 
the Earl of Eastberry, to whom he was 
land-steward. The news of his daugh- 
ter’s death had brought him home. 

“ Oh, Ailsa, my dear friend, could 
you not have saved her?” 

“ I was not her attendant,” was Mr. 
Ailsa’s reply. “ Mr. Rice and Dr. 
Wilson no doubt did all they could ; 
not to speak of her husband.” 

“ Is it true that she was getting well ? 
I know nothing. I only reached here 
in time for the funeral, and my wife is 
not in a state to give me particulars, 
even if she knows them.” 

“ I hear that she was getting well. 
She had been ill, as you are probably 
aware, but had recovered so far as to 
be out of danger.” 

“ Entirely so ?” 

“ As Mr. Rice tells me.” 

“ And then she was taken suddenly 
with convulsions.” 

Mr. Ailsa nodded. 

“ And died. As the other wives had 
died.” 

Mr. Ailsa sat silent. 

“ Did you ever hear of three wives, 
the wives of one man, having been 
thus attacked? Did you ever hear of 
so strange a coincidence ?” 

“ Not to my recollection.” 

“ And that when they were recov- 
ering, as they all were, that they should 
suddenly die of convulsions?” 

Mr. Ailsa looked distressed. 

“Do you know,” added Mr. Cha- 
vasse, lowering his voice, “ the thought 
crossed my mind this morning to stop 
the funeral But somehow I shrank 


from the hubbub it would have caused ; 
and my grief held such lull hold upon 
me. I said to myself, if I do cause an 
inquiry, it will not bring my child back 
to life.” 

“ Very true,” murmured Mr. Ailsa. 

“ Had I arrived yesterday, perhaps 
I should have entered upon it. I am 
sure I should, had I been here when 
she died. Speak your thoughts, Ailsa, 
between ourselves; see you no cause 
for suspicion ?” 

“ I do not like to answer your ques- 
tion,” replied Mr. Ailsa. “ Castonel 
is no personal friend of mine ; I never 
spoke to him : but we professional men 
are not fond of encouraging reflections 
upon each other.” 

“ Have you heard of that business 
at Thomas Shipley’s, about the child 
dying in the strange manner it did !” 

“ Mrs. Ailsa has heard the particu- 
lars from Mary ; and Dame V aughan 
seized hold of me the other day, and 
spoke of them.” 

“ Well, was not that a suspicious 
thing ?” 

“ I think it was a very extraordinary 
one. But the medicine was made up, 
and sent, by Mr. Rice, not by Mr. 
Castonel.” 

“ The fact is this, Ailsa. Each 
event, each death, taken by itself, would 
give rise to no suspicion ; but when 
you come to add them together, and 
look upon them collectively, it is then 
the mind is staggered. I wish,” added 
Mr. Chavasse, musingly, I knew the 
full particulars of my child’s death ; 
the details, as they took place.” 

“You surely can learn them from 
Mr. Castonel.” 

“ Would he tell ?” 

“Yes. If he be an innocent man.” 

“ If ! Do you know,” whispered 
Mr. Chavasse, “that they groaned at 
and hissed him in the churchyard to- 
day, calling him poisoner?” 

“ No !” 

“ They did. What a fool I was,” 
he continued, wringing his hands, 
“ ever to let her have Castonel ! It 
was my wife worried me into it. Ailsa, 
I must get at the particulars of her 
death-bed. I shall not rest till I do. 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


81 


If Castonel will not furnish them, I’ll 
ask Mrs. Muff.” 

Mr. Chavasse remained irresolute all 
day. At the dusk hour he stole 
through the twilight to the house of 
his son-in-law. But Mr. Castonel had 
also stolen out somewhere under cover 
of the night. The faithful upper ser- 
vant and housekeeper of all the Mrs. 
Castonels came to him in the dining- 
room, and the two sat down and sobbed 
one against the other. 

“ What did she die of?” groaned 
Mr. Chavasse. 

“ Sir,” said Mrs. Muff, “ I know no 
more than you. When she went to 
bed, she was as well as I was, and ten 
times merrier, talking about a new cap 
she had bought, and the visitors she 
would see on the morrow. That was 
about half-pas't nine, and by eleven we 
were all a-bed in the house. In the 
middle of the night — if you killed me, 
I couldn’t tell you the time, for in my 
flurry I never looked, but it may have 
been about two — their bedroom bell, 
the one which is hung by John’s door 
on the top landing, in case Mr. Cas- 
tonel is called out and wants him in 
the night, rang out such a dreadful 
peal, loud and long, as brought us all 
out of our beds ; and master was shout- 
ing from his chamber. The others 
stopped to put a few things on, but I 
ran down in my night-clothes. Sir, in 
ten minutes, Mrs. Castonel was dead.” 

“ How did she seem when you got 
to her ? How did she look ?” 

“ She was writhing on the bed in 
awful agony, screaming and flinging 
her arms about. Mr. Castonel called it 
convulsions. I suppose it was. It was 
just as the other two poor young ladies 
w ent off. He was in a fine state, and 
threw himself on the body afterwards, 
and sobbed as if his heart would break.” 

“ Did she take any thing in the 
night ?” 

“ Nothing, except some barley-water. 
She had drunk that, for the glass was 
empty.” 

“ Mrs. Muff,” he whispered, taking 
her hand with a beseeching look, “ do 
you feel that there has always been 
fair play ?” 

5 


“ The merciful goodness knows, sir. 
I can’t help asking myself all sorts of 
ugly questions, and then I am vexed at 
doing it. I know one thing; that it’s 
an unlucky house, and as soon as to- 
morrow comes, I take myself out of it. 
I could not stop. Mr. Castohel owes 
me three months’ wages, and if he says 
I have no right to them, for leaving 
without warning, why he must keep 
them. Hannah neither won’t stay. I 
had hard work to make her remain for 
the funeral.” 

“ You saw them all after death. 
How did they look ?” 

“ I saw them all, and noticed nothing 
extraordinary. But Mr. Castonel had 
the coffins screwed down quickly.” 

“ Has any thing ever happened to 
excite your suspicions ?” 

“ I cannot say it has. Though one 
circumstance has been much in my 
mind the last few days. The evening 
of the death of the first Mrs. Castonel, 
I and Hannah were seated in the 
kitchen, when we heard a noise in the 
laboratory. I went to see, and there 
was Mr. Castonel, who must have 
stolen down stairs and gone in without 
noise. He had let fall one of the little 
drawers, and I saw a phial and a paper 
or two on the floor. He was in a fierce 
rage with me for looking in. But the 
curious part is, that he had always 
passed off that drawer for a dummy 
drawer.” 

Mr. Chavasse did not speak. He 
listened eagerly. 

“And on the night of your poor 
daughter’s death, sir, he had got that 
same drawer out again. John went in, 
and saw him with it, and Mr. Castonel 
— to use the lad’s words — howled 
at him and chivied him back again. 
4 What a odd thing it is, Mrs. Muff,’ 
said he to me, that same evening, ‘ that 
I should always have took that drawer 
for a sham !’ ” 

“ Did you notice him at the drawer 
•when his second wife died, poor Ellen 
Leicester ?” 

“ No. But he may have gone to it 
every day of his life, without my seeing 
him. The curious point is, that he 
should have been seen at it on these 


82 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


two particular nights, and by neither 
of us at any other time. Oh, sir ! 
whether it has been bad luck, or 
whether it has been any thing worse, 
what a mercy if this man had never 
come near Ebury 1” 

“ It would have been a mercy,” 
echoed poor Mr. Chavasse. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER UNDER- 
TAKES TO EXCITE SUSPICION STILL 

FURTHER. 

There was a visitor at Mr. Hard- 
wick’s house, and the two had been in 
earnest conference for some time. The 
stranger — Mr. Smith, or whatever his 
name might be, had been arguing his 
point with some earnestness. 

“You make out that portion of the 
case ver}' well,” said the squire ; “ but 
it is all suspicion after all. There is a 
possibility that Mr. Castonel might have 
changed the powders ; but there is not 
enough evidence to proceed on. Mrs. 
Vaughan is a very prejudiced old wo- 
man, and sees things in the light of her 
hate. Understand me that I would be 
willing enough, as a magistrate, to at- 
tend to this, but were I to be too for- 
ward, and nothing come of it, Mr. Cas- 
tonel would make me suffer. There is 
no apparent motive for such an act on 
his part.” ' 

“ There is a motive, and a strong one, 
with an utterly unprincipled man. I 
wormed this out of the old dame. He 
was the father of the child.” 

“That would show less motive, or 
none, for its destruction, unless you 
make him out a perfect fiend.” 

“ B t suppose he made a conditional 
prom e that he would marry the moth- 
er, when he was a widower, if the child 
were then alive.” 

“ Did he make such a promise ?” 

“ Mrs. Vaughan will swear that she 
overheard him.” 

Just then Mr. Chavasse was announ- 
ced. He took no note of the stranger, 
so great was his excitement. 


“ I tell you, Squire Hardwick,” said 
he, “ I must have an inquest ; my poor 
child’s body shall be examined, i will 
know whether she has been poisoned 
or not. If there has been foul play, he 
shall suffer for it. They shall all be 
taken up — all — all.” 

“ And Mary Shipley’s baby too,” 
said the stranger. 

“ And that too. I don’t know you, 
sir, but I thank you for the sugges- 
tion. I should like to know about this 
Castonel — who he was originally — 
where he came from. No one knows. 
Maybe he has no right to the name.” 

“You are. mistaken there,” said the 
other ; “ he has a right to the name.” 

“ Possibly ; but that woman at Beech 
Lodge could tell. A cousin — a pretty 
cousin she. It’s my opinion that she’s 
nothing more nor less than — ” 

“ Stop, sir,” thundered the other, an- 
grily, without remembering that he was 
not in his own house. “ I will not suf- 
fer you to say any thing against that 
lady.” 

Mr. Chavasse looked astonished. 

“ I assure you,” continued the stran- 
ger, resuming his ordinary tone, “ that 
there has been, and could be no inter- 
course between that lady and Mr. Cas- 
tonel, other than proper. I could satisfy 
you of that by four words; but I should 
not do so now. You will know all 
some time, and in the mean while you 
may take my w r ord for it. No man 
shall impugn that lady’s conduct or char- 
acter in my presence with impunity.” 

“ Why, that is what Mr. Castonel 
himself said to poor Mr. Winninton,” 
said Chavasse. 

“ Did he ? So much the better for 
him. It was his duty to do so.” 

“ Duty.” 

“ I said — duty. Rest easy, all will 
be explained before long. Have your 
inquest — your examination — I was en- 
deavoring to persuade Mr. Hardwick to 
the step when you came in. But he 
wants an affidavit of probable cause.” 

“ I’ll make one, then,” replied Cha- 
vasse. 

“Suppose we have an informal in- 
quiry first,” suggested the cautious ma- 
gistrate. “ Let us have the parties who 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


83 


can throw any light on it, and examine 
what they have to say carefully, before 
we commit ourselves. Feeling should 
not have its way in a matter like this, 
which is too serious to go at, except 
with coolness and caution.” 

“ Your daughter has not been mur- 
dered,” observed Mr. Chavasse, bit- 
terly. 

“ Very true,” replied the magistrate, 
calmly. “But we have no evidence 
yet that yours has been. Come, now, 
don’t interrupt, but hear me out. There 
is a series of remarkable facts, that in 
connection are suspicious — the point to 
determine is, whether they are enough to 
act as a defence in case we fail, and are 
prosecuted for false arrest.” 

“ I would spend every shilling I have 
in the world to get justice done on the 
murderer of my daughter.” 

“ Granted ; but not to merely find 
that you could prove no murder at all. 
Besides, as you said just now, l have 
had no daughter murdered, which is no 
evidence that I do not sympathize with 
you, but explains why I go to work 
with more deliberation. There is one 
great obstacle as yet.” 

“ Obstacle ?” 

“ Yes. I was speaking of it to this 
gentleman before you came in. It is 
the apparent absence of any motive for 
such wholesale slaughter.” 

“ Motive ! — why — abundant.” 

“ Very good — what is it ?” 

Mr. Chavasse was silent for a minute 
or more, and then ' he broke out 
vehemently — 

“ He has poisoned them — there is no 
doubt of it.” 

I fear so,” said Mr. Hardwick, “ but 
still there is no impelling reason. We 
may get a clue to it by a little manage- 
ment.” & 

“ Management !” burst forth Mr. Cha- 
vasse, again, t‘I{fln sick of management. 
All I want is a straightforward, thor- 
ough, square investigation. Let us get 
to the bottom of the business by a di- 
rect mode. If he didn’t murder my 
danghter, let him show his innocence.” 

“ Softly,” answered the "magistrate, 
almost provoked into a smile, “ you for- 
get that it is not the rule of English 


law to ask a man to prove his inno- 
cence ; though an English public may 
do such a thing. His innocence is pre- 
sumed until we show something to the 
contrary.” 

“ Oh, I know all that — that’s of 
course ; but I mean let us go at it at 
once in a direct way. Let him be com- 
mitted to await an investigation.” 

“ He must be arrested first, and it 
requires an examination before he can 
be committed, and sufficient prima facie 
evidence, backed by an affidavit, for 
even a warrant.” 

“ Did you never hear of murders 
being done without any apparent 
motive ?” asked the stranger. 

“Certainly; but if no motive at all 
be shown, it may lead to his escape. 
Look at it. He had nothing to gain by 
the death of his wives.” 

“ Yes, but his first two were in the 
way of his marrying Frances, where he 
might gain something,” suggested Mr. 
Chavasse. 

“ Which tells against the theory of 
his having poisoned your daughter,” 
returned the other. “ His hope of 
money through her was in her surviving 
you. So far as self-interest went, it was 
in favor of his guarding her life with 
jealous care.” 

“ It seems to me you are arguing his 
case for him,” said Mr. Chavasse, 
moodily. 

“Trust me,” returned the magistrate, 
“ that the barrister who defend^ him 
would put it in a stronger wavT It is 
clear that the motive was not interest.” 

“It might have been hate,” inter- 
posed the stranger. 

“ Possibly ; but what is the evidence 
of its existence? There were no quar- 
rels between him and his wives. In 
your daughter’s case, yon told me once, 
yourself, that he lavished on her every 
thing that the tenderest husband could, 
and more than you would, were you in 
his place. So far as you know, or the 
public know, their relations were of the 
most affectionate kind. Even the 
sharp-sighted Mrs. Muff knows of no 
difficulty between the two. So you see 
there is no ground for that motive to 
stand on.” 


84 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


“ Suppose he had no motive, but just 
sheer, downright deshe to kill them.” 

“ It would be hard to put that idea 
before a court. A smart barrister would 
make it acquit his client, if the facts 
were doubtful.” 

“But if we can show that they did 
take poison — that the poison could have 
been given by no one but him — if we 
can bring up the baby-case, where there 
was a motive,” interposed the stranger, 
“ what then ?” 

“ I fear you would only build up a 
basis on which a smart counsel would 
rear a very pretty fabric of insanity. 
The days of Blue Beard are past. Men 
are not supposed to poison three young 
and handsome wives in succession, 
without apparent cause, and in the last 
instance against their own interest.” 

“ What do you propose to do — 
dismiss the case when it comes before 
you officially ?” queried the stranger. 

“ No ! the circumstances are such as 
to give rise to grave suspicions, sufficient 
to justify me, perhaps, in acting as a 
magistrate. If a coroner’s jury should 
find a verdict, as it probably w'ould, the 
commitment would inevitably follow. 
But I am anxious that, if he be guilty — ” 

“ If ! He is guilty !” exclaimed Mr. 
Chavasse. 

“ Admit that I believe it so — that we 
are all three here satisfied of his guilt, 
it will not weaken the case against him, 
if we sift all the evidence carefully. 
You j^now what grounds you have to 
go onT^Ktheffirst place ; and then you 
may get acfue to the motive, which 
will make it surer.” 

“We have heard the witnesses 
already.” 

“ No — only a portion, and then in a 
discursive way. I propose that we 
shall get Mr. Tuck before us.” 

“ And Mr. Rice ?” ^ 

“ Probably ; but we will get little out 
of him, unless in a court, or before the 
coroner. He is in Mr. Castonel’s 
employ, and, knowing the examination 
to be extra-magisterial, would probably 
have nothing to say. What we get 
must be voluntary. Mr. Tuck is not of 
the same nature, and we may glean a 
deal from him. I thought of the tiger, 


but he is rather sharp, and may not be 
managed.” 

“ Leave him to me,” said the stranger, 
with a slight chuckle of confidence. 
“ lie is a mercenary young cur, and I 
can squeeze him as dry as a sponge. 
When I have done with him you will 
find little more to extract.” 

“You may get too much,” rejoined 
Mr. Hardwick, drily. 

“ Never fear for that.” 

“ I mean that it may not be reliable.” 

“ I understand you ; but I can sift 
the wheat from his chaff, without arguing 
very much shrewdness on my part. I 
have had occasion to do it once or 
twice before.” 

“I rely more upon John and Han- 
nah’s evidence, than even Mrs. Muff’s,” 
continued the magistrate. “ Hannah is 
talkative, and therefore inquisitive ; 
though Mrs. Muff is prudent, and likely 
to have rebuffed her, she has no doubt 
gleaned a good deal, and many matters 
not likely to have impressed her, which 
will come out, may guide us.” 

“ Hannah was lady’s maid ?” inquired 
the stranger. 

“ No — in the kitchen ; but don’t you 
know that the kitchen knows most of 
the parlor ? All people are at the mercy 
of their servants, in the matter of 
secrets, and the lower you get down the 
ladder the more is picked up. What 
does not astonish your valet makes your 
scullion ponder.” 

There was some force in this last 
observation of Mr. Hardwick, and it 
seemed to strike the other two. At 
least it was not contested. 

“ I think,” continued the magistrate, 
“ that by the time we have sifted what 
is at hand, some indications of further 
evidence may appear.” 

“ And when dOyou propose to have 
the examination ?” asked Mr. Chavasse. 

“ As soos^s possiWe^, To-inorrow, 
at farthest.” 

“ I should like to be present,” said the 
stranger. 

“ There is no reason why yon should 
not. I will have them summoned here 
quietly — MTk. Muff, Hannah, John, Mr. 
Tuck, Dame Vaughan, and Mary Ship- 
ley — in fact, all of those who probably 



vx/rv'CLOJi^ 

THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 86 


know any thing before us, and sound the 
depth of the evidence.” 

“ Very well — but it shall not rest, any 
way.” 

The stranger, promising to be pres- 
ent at the proposed inquiry, was about 
to leave the house. Mr. Chavasse stop- 
ped him. 

“ Did you know that man before he 
came to Eburv ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Was he — was he respectable ?” 

“ He was so considered.” 

“ Is Castonel really his name ?” 

“ It is. I never knew him by any 
other name.” The stranger left. Mr. 
Hardwick turned to his friend. 

“ What do you mean, Chavasse, by 
hp-rping on the name of Castonel ?” 

“ Mr. Hardwick, I always thought 
that Castonel’s features were familiar, 
and I think I can place them. Do you 
remember when you and I were boys — 
my father was an attorney employed 
by yours, in all his business ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Y ou remember a kind of half-tiger, 
half-page in your father’s service, by the 
name of George Briggs ?” 

“ Y es — he left, or was turned off or 
something. I have a remembrance of 
hearing some one — my father or some 
one else say, that he \14as connected with 
a good family, by the mother’s side.” 

“ Well, he fell in love with Mrs. Leices- 
ter — she wasn’t Mrs. Leicester then, 
you know, but engaged — and between 
us all we badgered him almost to death, 
poor fellow ; I believe we drove him 
away among us— Winninton and I 
particularly.” 

“ More shame to you all. Well ?” 

“ Castonel has his face — that is, as I 
would think it to be, grown older.” 

“Nonsense, Chavasse rCastonel I have 
seen and spoken with too often — he has 
attended here professionally. He is a 
gentleman in manner, and I should 
judge one by breeding.” 

“ True,” replied Chavasse, “ but they 
called this boy, ‘Gentleman George.’ 
He was noted for manners above his 
station.” 

“ What does it matter, after all? Sup- 
pose it were so, what then ?” 


“ Nothing; but it is strange.” 

“ Oh, you will see a thousand such ro- 
semblances. It is scarcely possible that 
this man can be ‘ Gentleman George.’ ” 

“What of him?” asked Ailsa, who 
came in with his wife, on a visit to the 
Hall, and overheard the last word as he 
entered. 

“ We were talking of him,” said 
Hardwick. “ I wonder what became 
of the fellow.” 

“ I did hear,” replied Ailsa, “ a few 
years since. His mother’s uncle adopt- 
ed and educated him, and left him a 
few thousand pounds, on condition of 
changing his name. He was bred to 
medicine.” 

“ Go on,” said Chavasse. “ What 
became of him then ?” 

“ He ran away with the daughter of 
the Duke of Carberry, whom he got 
acquainted with somehow, and, though 
the Duke never recognized him, cut 
quite a figure in London.” 

“ And his name ?” 

“ l never had curiosity enough to 
ask.” 

“ Castonel and George Briggs are one 
and the same, as sure as you are all 
there,” said Chavasse. “ Don’t you re- 
member his face ?” 

“ I never saw him,” answered Ailsa. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE INTERVIEW IN THE LABORATORY, 

AND THE STRANGE SECRET DRAWER. 

On the following afternoon John was 
in the laboratory, when Mr. Rice and 
Mr. Tuck came in. 

“ Here’s a pretty state of things,” 
exclaimed the tiger. “ Mother Muff’s 
gone oft', and Hannah’s gone off ; leav- 
ing me, and master, and Ralph in the 
house, to do the work for ourselves.” 

“ Gone off !” echoed Mr. Rice. 
“ What for ?” 

“ You must ask ’em that,” returned 
the tiger. “ Hannah said the house 
smelt of poison.” 

“ Pshaw!” exclaimed Mr. Rice. “Go 
with this mixture to Mrs. Major Acre’s.” 


86 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


“I tell you what,” cried little Tuck, 
as John went out, “ Mr. Castonel will 
find it no pleasant matter. It must be 
a dreadful cut-up to the feelings to 
have an inquiry pending whether you 
have not carried on a wholesale system 
of poisoning.” 

“ What do you mean ?” cried Mr. 
Rice, staring at him. 

“Chavasse is bent on an inquiry. 
He has taken some suspicion in his 
head, about foul play. ' So the body is 
to come up, and an inquest to be 
held.” 

“ Mrs. Castouel’s body ?” cried Mr. 
Rice, quickly. “ Nonsense !” 

“ Mrs. Castonel the third. Aud if 
they find any thing queer, Mrs. Castonel 
the second, and Mrs. Castonel the first, 
will follow. While they are about it, 
too, they may disinter that child of 
Mary Shipley’s.” 

“ Where did you hear all this ?” de- 
manded Mr. Rice, incredulously. 

44 Oh, I heard it. Mr. Chavasse was 
wavering over it yesterday, but he has 
been at the Hall to-day, and laid his 
suspicions and information before 
Squire Hardwick. I say, you see this 
set of drawers?” 

44 Well ?” resumed Mr. Rice, casting 
up his eyes. 

44 There’s something up about that 
top one being a secret drawer, and not 
a dummy ; and they say it has got 
something inside it that w r on’t do to be 
looked at.” 

44 1 do not believe it is a drawer,” 
observed Mr. Rice. 44 1 never knew it 
was.” 

“ Nor I,” rejoined little Tuck. 
“Hand me the steps, will you. I’ll 
have a look.” 

“ Let the steps alone, and the drawer 
too,” said*Mr. Rice. “Whether it’s 
wrong or right, we need not draw our- 
selves into the affair. Better keep out 
of it.” 

“ Well, perhaps you are right. What 
do you think Mr. Francis Hardwick 
said ?” 

“ I had rather not hear. How was 
old Flockaway f” 

“ My !” ejaculated little Tuck. “I 
never went. I forgot it.” 


“ Then I’ll go now. I suppose this 
gossip put it out of your head.” 

“It did. I say though, Rice, isn’t 
it a horrid go for Castonel ?” 

It must have been a “ horrid go” for 
Mr. Castonel to hear this ; and hear it 
he did, for he was seated . outside the 
open window. Had he placed himself 
there to listen? No one had ever 
known him to sit down oh that bench 
before. 

Mr. Rice left the house, and Mr. 
Tuck cast his eyes on the drawers. 
He was a good-natured, harmless little 
fellow, but liked to. indulge his curi- 
osity. “ Shall I look, or shall I not ?” 
soliloquized he. “ There is an old prov- 
erb that says 4 Discretion is the best 
part of valor.’ Oh, bother discretion ! 
Here goes. There’s 
to see me.” 

He set the steps against the case of 
drapers, and mounted up, his eager 
hand outstretched. But at that mo- 
ment a head and shoulders slowly rose 
before the window, and Mr. Tuck, in 
his fright, and the steps, nearly came 
down together. For it was Mr. Cas- 
tonel. 

44 Are you searching for any thing ?” 
equably demanded . Mr. Castonel. 

“Nothing, sir,” stammered Mr. Tuck, 
putting up the steps very humbly. 

“ Come out here,” said Mr. Castonel. 

Mr. Tuck went out. Had he been 
detected poisoning Mr. Castonel, he 
could hardly have felt more ashamed, 
more unjustifiably prying. Mr. Castonel 
made room for him on the bench be- 
side him. 

44 1 thought you were out, sir,” he 
awkwardly began. 

44 No,” answered Mr. Castonel. 4 ‘ I 
sat down here an hour ago, and” — he 
coughed — “dropped asleep. Your 
voice, talking with Mr. Rice, awoke 
me.” 

“ Oh, my heart !” groaned Mr. Tuck 
to himself, becoming very hot. 44 He 
must have heard all we said. Did you, 
sir?” he asked aloud, following out his 
thoughts. 

44 Did I what ?” demanded Mr. Cas- 
tonel, turning upon him his sinister 
eye. He knew he had got him safe — 


nobody at home 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


87 


that simple little Tuck was no match 
for him. 

“ Hear the — the — stuff — that I and 
Rice were saying?” 

“ I heard the stuff you were saying,” 
curtly rejoined Mr. Castonel. 

“ Of course I ought not to have re- 
peated it, sir ; but it will be all over the 
village to-morrow, without me. I am 
very sorry for it.” 

“ So am I,” responded Mr. Castonel. 
“ Sorry the people should be such 
fools.” 

41 And I hope it will be cleared up,” 
added Mr. Tuck. 

“ You do not believe there is any 
thing to clear up, do you ?” almost 
savagely retorted Mr. Castonel. 

“ I mean the reports,” deprecated little 
Tuck. 

“ But I ask you if you believe there 
can be any thing to clear up ?” repeated 
Mr. Castonel. 

“ No, sir, not now that I am talking 
with you. I don’t know whether I 
believed it, or not, up at the Hall. I 
was struck all in a maze there.” 

“ What brought you at the Hall ?” 

“ They sent for me.” 

“ Who ?” 

“ Squire Hardwick. No ; stop ; I 
think it was Mr. Chavasse. Or the two 
together : I don’t know.” 

“ What for f” 

Mr. Tuck hesitated. 

“ I am a wrongfully accused man,” 
burst forth Mr. Castonel. “ Even you 
were ready enough, but now, to accuse 
me to Rice. Who is it that is asking 
for a coroner’s inquest ?” 

“ Mr. Chavasse.” 

“ Upon what grounds. Speak up. 
Don’t equivocate.” 

“ I am not equivocating, sir,” cried 
little Tuck. “ And as you heard what 
I said to Mr. Rice, you know the chief 
facts. But I don’t like to repeat these 
things to your face.” 

“ I wish you to repeat them. I must 
know what they charge me with. An 
innocent man can listen to slander 
unmoved.” 

“ And you are innocent 1” cried Mr. 
Tuck, brightening up. 

“ Innocent ! Innocent of the death 


of my dear wives ! I would have died 
to save them.” 

“ Then I’ll tell you all I did hear, 
sir,” answered simple, credulous little 
Tuck. “ Mr. Chavasse has got some- 
thing in his head about Mrs. your 

late wife.” 

“ Got what ? Speak out.” 

“ He says he wants to prove whether 
she came fairly by her death. Perhaps,” 
added Mr. Tuck, in a conciliating tone, 
for he did shrink from his present task — 
“ perhaps he fears something may have 
been given to her by mistake.” 

“ No innuendoes,” was the rough 
answer. “ I shan’t wince. He fears I 
may have poisoned her, that’s what 
it is.” 

“ Well,” warmly cried little Tuck, “/ 
don’t fear it now.” 

“ Who went to Francis Hardwick’s ?” 

“ Mr. Chavasse was there, and they 
had me up, and Mrs. Muff ; and the 
squire asked Mr. Ailsa to be present, 
that he might judge whether there were 
medical grounds to go upon. And 
Dame Vaughan came up ” 

“ Why did not Francis Hardwick 
have the whole parish up ?” angrily 
interrupted the surgeon. 

“ Dame Vaughan was not sent for. 
She went of her own accord. Mr. 
Chavasse had met her in the morning, 
and asked her something, and she went 
up. It was about those powders that 
she complained, when Mary Shipley’s 
child died. She had nothing to say 
about Mrs. Castonel. She vowed those 
powders were poison.” 

“Mr. Rice made them up and sent 
them, whatever they were.” 

“But Dame Vaughan said Mr. Cas- 
tonel might have changed what Mr. 
Rice made up. She said, in fact, she’d 
almost be upon her oath he did, and 
that she had asked John, who said it 
was Mr. Castonel gave the powders into 
his hand, and that Mr. Rice was* not 
present. Mr. Ailsa said he never heard 
a woman go on so, and the squire 
threatened to turn her out of the justice- 
room unless she could be calm.” 

“ Did you hear her ?” 

“ Of course not. They had us in, 
one at a time, to the justice-room — as 


98 


GERVASE CASTONEL ; OR, 


the poor call it. The squire and Mr. 
Ailsa sat together at the table, and Mr. 
Chavasse sat on that low bench under 
the window, with his head bent on to 
his knees. Dame Vaughan has got an 
awful tongue. She said she was an old 
fool ; and, if she had not been one, the 
wickedness would have been brought to 
light at the time.” 

Mr. Castonel looked up sharply. 
“ She is a fool. What did she mean ?” 

“ Why, she said she gave the remain- 
ing four powders into your hands, after 
the baby died ; and let you take them 
into the yard, by yourself, at Shipley’s 
cottage, so that you had plenty of time 
to — to ” 

“ To what ? Speak out, I say again.” 

“ To walk off with the poison, and 
leave wholesome powders in its stead. 
She said, also ” 

“ Go on,” laughed Mr. Castonel, ap- 
parently quite at his ease, — much more 
so than his assistant, who spoke with 
frequent hesitation. 

“ That you must have planted your- 
self purposely in the boy’s way, who 
went after you, so as to run down to 
Thomas Shipley’s and secure the poison, 
before Mr. Rice or anybody could 
come.” 

“ She’s a lady !” ironically uttered 
Mr. Castonel. 

“ She is that,” responded little Tuck. 
“ She protested she would dig the baby 
up with her own hands, without any 
spade, if the magistrates would but go 
into the matter. Squire Hardwick told 
her it was quite an after consideration 
whether they went into it at all, and 
that it had nothing to do with the sub- 
ject under notice.” 

“ I’ll ‘ dig’ her !” uttered Mr. Castonel. 
“ What did they ask Mrs. Muff?” 

“ I don’t know what they asked her, 
but I believe she was cautious, and 
couldn’t or wouldn’t say, one way or 
the other, whether she suspected or not. 
Oh — and who else do you think came 
to the Hall?” 

“ All Ebury, probably.” 

“ Mrs. Leicester.” 

“ Mrs. Leicester? Who next. What 
did she want ?” 

“ Mrs. Leicester, in her widow’s 


■weeds. She was in there, ever so long, 
with Mr. Chavasse and the squire, and 
Ailsa, and that strange gentleman.” 

“ What strange gentleman ?” 

“ I don’t know, sir. Him that was 
here once or twice before, and put up 
at the Three Pigeons.” 

“ Gentleman ! A queer place.” 

“ Well, he looks like a gentleman. 
He took a great interest in the matter, 
and cross-questioned me like a lawyer. 
The old dame says he is the one that is 
going to put things to rights ; and one 
of the servants thinks he is a great Lon- 
don detective. I don’t think that. He 
is a gentleman, though.” 

“ What does he look like ?” 

“ Well — he’s rather taller than shorter 
— and his eyes are — well, I don’t know 
what color — and — well, I didn’t take 
notice of but one thing about him.” 

“ What was that ?” 

“ It wasn’t much. It was a scar on 
his left wrist, that showed once when he 
raised his hand.” 

Mr. Castonel winced a little. 

“Well, what brought Mrs. Leicester 
there ?” 

“ Mr. Chavasse had been to the rec- 
tory and had an interview with her in 
the morning, and she came up. We 
gathered that she objected to Ellen — to 
Mrs. Cas — to the remains of her daugh- 
ter being disturbed, and that Squire 
Hardwick promised they should not be, 
unless the ends of justice peremptorily 
demanded it.” 

“ What questions did they ask you ?” 

“ They asked me very few, because I 
had nothing to tell,” replied little Tuck. 
“ When Mr. Chavasse found that I had 
not interfered with his daughter’s ill- 
ness, in fact, had not seen her, he said 
he was sorry to have troubled me ; that 
they ought to have had Mr. Rice up 
instead.” 

“ Have they written to the coroner ?” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure. Squire 
Hardwick said the affair looked gravely 
suspicious, and that an inquest was 
indispensable. He said — shall I tell 
you what else he said, sir ?” 

“ Tell ! Of course.” 

“ His opinion was, that the fact of 
three young wives dying in so sudden 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


89 


and mysterious a manner, afforded un- 
common scope for doubt, even without 
the attendance of other suspicious cir- 
cumstances.” 

“ What ‘other V ” 

“ That’s more than I can say. Unless 
he meant what that beldame, Dame 
Vaughan, set afloat.” 

“ Tush !” scornfully retorted Mr. 
Castonel. And then he sat for some 
minutes in a reverie. Little Mr. Tuck 
rose. 

“Do you want me any longer, sir? 
I have not had my tea.” 

“ No,” said the surgeon. “ Have you 
told all?” 

“ Every word, sir.” 

“What were you saying to Mr. Rice 
about that case of drawers ?” returned 
Mr. Castonel, half turning his head 
towards the spot where they stood. 

“Oh, I forgot that; 1 did indeed. 
Some of them say that topmost drawer 
is not a ” 

“ Don’t speak so vaguely. Who ?” 

“ I’m blest if I know who,” said Mr. 
Tuck, after considering. “ They asked 
me, and I said I always took that top- 
most drawer to be a dummy, but they 
say it is not ; that there’s something 
inside it, and that you had it out the 
evenings that your wives died. Of 
course they meant to insinuate that — 
that ” 

“ That I keep a subtile poison in it,” 
sneered Mr. Castonel, “ and have been 
dealing it out in doses. Any more ?” 

“ That is all, sir.” 

“ Good. You need not say, outside, 
that you have told me this. I am glad 
I know who my enemies are.” 

“ I will not say a word to any one, 
sir,” earnestly replied the little man. 
“You may rely upon me. Good 
evening.” 

Mr. Tuck departed. Mr. Castonel 
remained on the bench. As the former 
hastened up the street, thinking what 
an aspersed man the surgeon was, he 
encountered Mr. Ailsa. 

“ Now I’ll just ask the question,” 
thought he. “ I’m sure if I can let Cas- 
tonel know any thing certain, it is what 
I ought to do, with so many against 
him. I say, sir,” quoth he aloud, 


“have they written to the coroner 
yet ?” 

“ Not yet. Mr. Francis Hardwick 
wished to confer with a brother magis- 
trate first. Mr. Chavasse did not con- 
sult him in his magisterial capacity, but 
as a friend. He ” 

“ Are you sure ?” interrupted Mr. 
Tuck. 

“ Quite sure. If any magistrate has 
to interfere, it will not be my brother- 
in-law : he is acting solely as Mr. 
Chavasse’s private friend.” 

“ Perhaps it is not decided that there 
will be any inquest,” said Mr. Tuck, 
briskly. 

“ Oh yes, that is decided, Mr. Cha- 
vasse demands it. The coroner will be 
written to to-morrow.” 

“ Do you know, Mr. Ailsa, I do 
believe Castonel is as innocent as you 
or I.” 

“ I hope he is. It will be a most 
horrible blow to all parties interested, 
should the contrary be proved.” 

“ He says he would have died to 
save his wives. Oh, he must be inno- 
cent.” 

“ I heartily wish he may be. Good 
evening. I am on my way to see Mrs. 
Chavasse.” 

“ Will she get better ?” 

“ Better. But never well.” 

James Ailsa continued his way, and 
Mr. Tuck continued his. But suddenly 
he stopped and ruminated. 

“ Suppose I go back, and tell Castonel 
at once ! That would be one grain of 
comfort. I know I should want a 
many grains if I were in his shoes.” 

So he turned back to the house of 
Mr. Castonel. But instead of ringing 
at the front door and bringing Mr. Cas- 
tonel to open it, he walked round to 
the side of the house and tried the back 
garden door, which, as he knew, was 
occasionally left unlocked, though 
against orders. It was open, and Mr. 
Tuck went in. Mr. Castonel was not on 
the bench then, and Mr. Tuck entered 
the house by the little door next the 
surgery. 

The first object he saw was Mr. Cas- 
tonel, mounted on the very steps, as he 
had been, and in the very same place. 


90 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


And he held the “ dummy” drawer in 
one hand, and grasped some papers and 
a phial with the other. 

“ Hallo !” cried Mr. Castonel, dashing 
the papers and phial into it, and the 
drawer back into its place, as he rapidly 
descended, “ how did you get in ? I 
heard you go.” 

“ I came in by the garden door.” 

“Who has done that? Who has 
dared to leave it unfastened ?” raved Mr. 
Castonel, with his awful glare. 

That glare had never yet been turned 
upon Mr. Tuck. He did not like it, 
and he confessed afterwards that he felt 
as if he would prefer to be safe outside 
the house, rather than alone in it with 
Mr. Castonel. He had the presence of 
mind (he called it so) to speak in a care- 
less tone. 

“ One of the servants, no doubt. 
Very stupid of them, for boys may get 
in and steal the gooseberries : little 
odds to them whether they are green or 
ripe. I came back to tell you, sir, that 
they have not written to the coroner. I 
met Mr. Ailsa as I left here, and put the 
question to him point-blank, and he said 
they had not ; so I thought you might 
like to know it. He told me something 
else, too : that Mr. Chavasse did not 
formally lay a charge before Mr. Francis 
Hardwick : he only consulted him as a 
friend.” 

“ Oh,” cried Mr. Castonel. 

“ Mr. Ailsa supposes they will write 
to the coroner to-morrow,” added Mr. 
Tuck. “But to-day is one day, and 
to-morrow is another ; and before 
to-morrow comes they may change their 
mind, sir, and let the matter drop.” 

“ They may write if they choose,” 
said Mr. Castonel, “ I want no favor 
from them. I have been forcing that 
drawer out, Tuck,” he continued, with 
a cough, “ and find there’s a paper of 
magnesia in it, and some hartshorn in a 
phial. They must have been there for 
ages? — ever since the drawers were ap- 
propriated when I first came into the 
house.” 

“ Then you never did have it out, as 
they say ?” eagerly cried Mr. Tuck. 

“ Not that I have any recollection of. 
I suppose its not being used must have 


caused the impression to get abroad 
that it was a dummy drawer. Had any 
curious person applied to me upon the 
point, I could have told them that it 
was not a dummy.” 

“ It looks like a dummy, sir,” rejoined 
Mr. Tuck. “ It has no knob, and no 
lock to it, like the others. Why has it 
not ?” 

“ How should I know w'hy ?” retorted 
Mr. Castonel. “ I did not make the 
drawers.” 

“ Well, sir, good evening once more,” 
concluded little Tuck. “ I thought you 
might like to hear that there’s nothing 
yet but smoke.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER HAS AN IN- 
TERVIEW WITH MR. CASTONEL, AND 

AN ECLAIRCISSEMENT, WHICH IS ONLY 

CLEAR TO THE TWO. 

Mr. Castonel sat alcne that evening, 
lost in reflection. His musings were ap- 
parently not very pleasant, if the chan- 
ges that came over his countenance 
were any indication. At length he rose 
to go out. As he did so he heard a 
footstep in the hall, which he supposed 
to be that of John. 

“Come in,” he said, “I want you 
here.” 

“And you have me here,” said a voice, 
sneeringly. 

The surgeon started in some surprise, 
for confronting him, just inside the door, 
stood Mr. Smith, or whatever else he 
might be named, the stranger who had 
lodged at the Three Pigeons. 

“ Oh, you are here,” said Mr. Casto- 
pel, in a tone of bitterness. “ You have 
left America, and undertaken to meddle 
in my affairs. Rather bold, I fancy.” 

“ I know of no reason why I should 
not come from America, if I think 
proper ; and as to meddling in affairs of 
yours, they are likely to be public af- 
fairs very shortly. I am only antici- 
pating events a little.” 

“You impudent scoundrel!” And 
the surgeon’s face grew livid as he spoke. 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


91 


“ You know of no reason why you should 
not come from America ! I know of a 
reason why you should take a longer 
voyage, and at her majesty’s expense.” 

“You are mistaken.” 

“ Am I ? I have the check itself. 
Will your impudence lie down the fixed 
signature ? Bah ! Sir Richard ! The 
penniless baronet will be the felon bar- 
onet, if I but say the word.” 

“You are dreaming, man. I do not 
understand you. Check ! What check ? 
There is no check ! That ’is like your 
story about those letters of mine, found 
in Lady Lavinia’s possession. You 
frightened her with that absurd story 
long enough. There never were any 
letters.” 

“ Indeed ! Let her or you provoke 
me too much, and I will produce them 
to your confusion, and her shame.” 

“ Not if you can help it. Your allow- 
ance from the duke would stop then, eh ? 
But you have no such letters — you 
never had them.” 

“ We shall see.” 

“No doubt we shall. But you will 
have to be quick about it. The officers 
of justice will interfere with your move- 
ments otherwise.” 

Mr. Castonel laughed. 

“ Oh, you refer to the gossip of Ebu- 
ry,” said he. “The professional jealousy 
of James Ailsa, and the wounded pride 
of his wife’s family, are at the bottom of 
the foul and false charge.” 

“ And the mother of your child.” 

“ Pooh !” 

“ I have traced all that out, man. 
There is not a circumstance which I 
have not noted. If you have done it, 
and I believe you have, you cannot well 
escape.” 

“ I defy you.” 

“ So be it ; but if that fails, there is 
the big ” 

“ Bah !” interrupted the surgeon, 
“ they are all dead. In short, Sir Rich- 
ard, your talk is absurd. You are in 
my power, and so is she.” 

“ On the contrary, you are in mine. 
I called to give you fair warning. To- 
morrow 7 w ill test the truth of my words, 
and yours.” 

The stranger glided out, leaving Mr. 


Castonel in a rage almost speechless. 
At length he said — 

“ We will see !” 

He took a light, and went to the lab- 
oratory, locking the door after him. An 
examination of the secretary followed. 
He drew out the three envelopes. The 
moment he saw them, he laughed sar- 
castically. 

“So, Sir Richard,” he cried, “you 
defy me, do you ? More shame to you, 
for she will suffer — her name, her family 
— you are right. But not about the for- 
gery — not about the forgery.” 

lie was removing one of the envelopes 
as he spoke the last words ; and then 
took out what appeared to be a letter. 
As he opened it, he found it to be a sheet 
of paper entirely blank, without writing 
of any kind on it. Astonished beyond 
words, he hastily opened the others. 
The enclosures of each w 7 ere similar. 

The surgeon sank into a chair, and 
engaged in thought. 

“ She is out of my reach,” he said, at 
length. “ Now, if he has got the check 
by the same means, he had reason to 
defy me. But her evidence must be out 
of the way, somehow.” 

He mused again. 

“ Can I cajole her? If not, then ” 

He obtained a packet from one of the 
drawers, which he thrust in his vest 
pocket. The enclosures, with their blank 
contents, were replaced; and then the 
surgeon pursued his first intention, and 
left the house. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

WHEREIN THE FOX IS RUN TO EARTH AT 
LAST. 

A small, better class of cottage, built 
in the form of a lodge and so called, 
stood alone amidst trees w 7 hich nearly 
surrounded it, a whole grove of them, 
thick, and high, and lofty. Had the 
trees possessed human ears, they might 
have detected sounds, late that night, 
inside the cottage : unusual sounds ; of 
dispute, and then commotion, and then 
distress : and afterwards the outer door 


92 


GERVASE CASTONEL; OR, 


was flung open, and a woman-servant 
sprang out of it with a smothered shriek, 
took her way at top speed towards the 
village, and rang a loud peal at the 
lodgings of Mr. Rice. That gentleman 
was just on the point of stepping into 
bed. He turned to the window, opened 
it, and looked out in his night-shirt. 

“ It’s here, isn’t it, that Mr. Castonel’s 
partner lives?” a woman breathlessly 
uttered. 

“ That’s near enough. Yes. What’s 
wanted ?” 

“ Oh — I did not know you in the 
flurry, sir. Please to come this instant 
to Mr. Castonel. There’s not a moment 
to lose.” 

“ To Mr. Castonel ? Where ?” 

“ He is down at Beech Lodge. Make 
haste, sir, or he may be dead before you 
come.” 

“ He dead ! Mr. Castonel ! What 
in the world is the matter with him ?” 

“ Poison, I believe : please to bring 
your remedies for it.” 

“ Here” — for she was striding away — 
“ what description of poison ?” 

“I can’t tell. You had bettor come 
and see, sir, instead of wasting time.” 

Full of consternation and alarm, Mr. 
Rice thrust on a pair of trousers over 
his night-sliirt, and a coat, and came 
out that way, without a waistcoat or 
neck-tie. He rang at Mr. Castonel’s. 

“Law bless us!” cried John in his 
surprise, as he flung open the door, “ I 
didn’t expect you, sir ; I thought it was 
master. I’m a sitting up for him.” 

Mr. Rice vouchsafed no answer; he 
was too hurried. He collected what he 
wanted from the surgery, and turned to 
the door again. 

“ Ho you know any thing of master, 
sir, whether he ain’t a coming home ?” 
demanded the tiger, looking with 
curiosity at the signs of Mr. Rice’s hasty 
toilet, and his as hasty movements. 

“Your master is ill. He has been 
taken ill at Beech Lodge. Where’s 
Ralph ?” 

“ He’s gone to bed, sir.” 

“ Call him up to mind the house, and 
you come after me down there. You 
may be useful.” 

Away sped Mr. Rice again. Just 


before he turned off to the fields, he met 
Mr. and Mrs. Ailsa, near to the gate of 
their own house. They were walking 
home from the Hall. 

“ What’s the matter ?” cried Mr. 
Ailsa. 

“ I can’t wait to tell you,” was Mr. 
Rice’s hurried answer, without arresting 
his steps. “ I fear Castonel has 
destroyed himself. One of those women 
has been up to me from Beech Lodge. 
He is there.” 

“ I will go with you, I may be of 
service,” eagerly cried Mr. Ailsa. “How 
many more tragedies are we to have ? 
Mary, my dear, can you run in alone ?” 

“ Oh yes, yes, James, lose no time.” 

The two women — the young and 
handsome lady, about whom so much 
mystery had existed, and the woman- 
servant — were standing outside the 
Lodge, looking out for Mr. Rice, when 
the surgeons approached. 

“ You are too late.” 

They did not know which spoke, 
they pressed on, in-doors. Mr. Rice 
half turned his head at a noise behind 
him. It was the tiger galloping down. 
In the small sitring-room, stretched on 
the floor, between the table and the fire- 
place, was Mr. Castonel. Dead. 

The servant followed them into the 
room. Not so her mistress. 

“ Too true,” uttered Air. Rice, “ he has 
committed suicide. What’s this ?” 

He was looking on the table. A 
decanter of wine and two glasses were 
there. One of the glasses was full, the 
other had been emptied. The woman 
was sobbing violently, and seemed to 
have lost all idea of caution or self- 
control. 

“ I can’t say I ever liked him,” she 
said, “ but it’s horrible to see a man, well 
one minute, and the next die before 
one’s eyes.” 

“AVhat has led to this?” inquired 
Mr. Rice. 

“ He came here about eight o’clock, 
and he had a violent quarrel with my 
mistress. 1 heard bits of it here and 
there.” 

“AVell?” 

“ It grew very bitter, and my mistress 
at length flew into a state of frenzy, and 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


93 


came to the door and called me in, 
that I might be a witness to her words, 
she said. I had never seen her in such 
a state before, nor anybody else, and 
she knelt down and swore a solemn oath 
that things should go on in the way 
they had been going on no longer, and 
that she would declare the truth to the 
world, and force him to acknowledge it, 
be the consequences what they might. 
That calmed Mr. Castonel ; though for 
the matter of that he had not been so 
violent, but I think his cold sneers pro- 
voked her. He looked at her with a 
curious expression, and sat down on the 
sofa and seemed to be thinking. Then 
he told me to get the wine and some 
wine-glasses, and ” 

“ What are you saying ?” interrupted 
a calm voice, and the mistress of the 
Lodge appeared. “ Any information 
necessary for these gentlemen I can give 
myself.” 

The servant shrank from the room, 
and began talking to John in the kitch- 
en. The lady confronted the surgeons, 
keeping the table between herself and 
the body. 

“ Can yon do nothing for him ?” 

“ Nothing, I grieve to say,” replied 
Mr. Ailsa, speaking with involuntary 
respect, in spite of his prejudices. 
Whatever may have been that lady’s 
history, she had the bearing and man- 
ners of a refined gentlewoman. 

“ He must have been dead a quarter 
of an hour,” added Mr. Rice. “ Did he 
wilfully poison himself?” 

“ No,” was the lady’s calm answer. 

Mr. Rice paused, probably in sur- 
prise. “ Then could it have been taken 
in mistake?”' 

“ Neither that. I gave it him.” 

They both stood staring at her. Was 
she to be believed ? — so quiet, so col- 
lected, so lovely looking ! How were 
they to act? An indistinct idea of 
having her secured ran through Mr. 
Rice’s mind. But he did not know how 
to set about it, or whether he would be 
justified. 

“ I will give you an outline of the 
circumstances,” she proceeded. “ He — ” 

“ Madam,” interrupted James Ailsa, 
“ it — I beg your pardon — but it may be 


my duty to caution you not to crimi- 
nate yourself.-” 

A proud smile of self-possession, one 
full of meaning, arose to her lips. “ I 
wish to tell you,” she answered. 

“ May it not be well to reserve it for 
the coroner’s inquest?” 

“No. I should be an ineligible wit- 
ness for him in any court of law.” 

“ Why ineligible for him ?” involun- 
tarily inquired Mr. Rice. 

“ Either for or against him. My testi- 
mony would not be taken.” 

Her words to them were as riddles ; 
and they waited in silence. 

“ He came down here to-night, and 
we quarrelled. No matter what the 
quarrel was about : it was such that we 
had never had before. He calmed down, 
apparently. I knew that the more 
smiling he was without, the more tem- 
pestuous he was within. I stood 
here. Here,” she added, advancing to 
the mantel-piece, but still not looking at 
what lay beneath her, and placing her 
elbow on the shelf and her hand 
before her eyes, “ I stood in this way. 
He was pouring out some wine he had 
asked for, and I watched his move- 
ments in the glass, through my fingers. 
I did not intentionally watch him : my 
thoughts were far away, and I snspected 
nothing. Suddenly I saw him slip 
something from a paper into one of the 
glasses ; I felt sure I saw him ; but I had 
my senses about me, and I took no 
notice whatever, only drew away and 
sat down in this chair. He handed me 
the glass, the glass, mind, saying the 
wisest plan would be to forget our 
dispute for to-night, for he must be 
going, and we could discuss the matter 
at issue another time. I took the glass 
from him, raised it to my lips, as if to 
drink, and then, as though by a sudden 
impulse, put it on the table without 
tasting it. ‘ If I am to drink this wine,’ 
I said, ‘ I must eat a biscuit first. Reach 
them.’ ” 

The lady paused for a moment, and 
her hearers waited with breathless 
interest. 

“ He knew where they were kept — 
in that closet,” she added, pointing with 
her finger to a closet opposite the fire- 


94 


GERYASE CASTONEL; OR, 


place, and the two medical men glanced 
at it. “He opened the door and step- 
ped inside, it is rather deep, and came 
forth with the biscuits. But in that 
moment I had changed the glasses. I 
took a biscuit, began slowly to eat it, 
and he drank up his wine. In a few 
minutes he shrieked out convulsively. 
I sent for aid, ran out, and hid myself 
amidst the trees, for I was afraid of him. 
When my servant came back, we went 
in together, but I think the poison had 
then done its work. It must have been 
subtile and deadly.” 

Mr. Ailsa took up the empty glass , 1 
and, with Mr. Rice, examined the few 
drops left at the bottom. Not at first 
did they detect the nature of the poison; 
it was indeed rare and subtile, leaving, 
where it should be imbibed, but little 
trace after death. 

“ She says master’s dead,” sobbed 
John, as the gentlemen went out. “ It 
can’t be true.” 

“Too true, John,” answered Mr. 
Rice. 

“ Sir, did he poison hisself, as she 
says ? Did he do it on purpose ?” 

“ No. He drank a glass of wine, and 
there was poison in it. He $id not 
know it.” 

“ Oh, my poor master !” 

Full of excitement as Ebury had 
been — and had cause to be — on several 
previous occasions, it was nothing com- 
pared with what rose with the following 
morning. Mr. Castonel dead ! Mr. 
Castonel poisoned ! John ostentatiously 
closed all the windows of the house, and 
sat himself outside on the door-step, 
forgetting dignity in grief, to answer the 
mass of inquirers. It was Mr. Ailsa 
who carried the news to Mr. Chavasse. 

“ Is not this a confirmation of our 
fears ?” exclaimed the latter. 

“ I fear it looks very like it.” 

“ Oh, it is horrible !” groaned Mr. 
Chavasse. “ Three young and happy 
girls to have been foully ” 

“ Nay, nay,” interrupted James Ailsa. 
“Nothing is proved.” 

“And never will be now,” replied 
poor Mr. Chavasse. “ It is a mercy for 
the rector that he went beforehand.” 

Before the dav was over fresh news 


had gone out to Ebury — that Mr. Cha- 
vasse meant not to pursue the investi- 
gation he had contemplated. Where 
was the use ? he argued, since the guilty 
man — if he was guilty — was gone. 
Where, indeed ? echoed a few judicious 
friends. But Ebury in general con- 
sidered itself very shabbily used, and 
has hardly got over the disappointment 
; to this day. 

An inquest, however, there was to be, 
over Mr., if not Mrs. Castonel, and 
Ebury’s curiosity concentrated itself 
upon that event. Some gossip told by 
the parish beadle fanned the flame. 
When he had gone down to serve the 
two summonses at the Lodge, and 
required the name of the lady, she had 
replied “ Castonel.” 

“ Then it is a relative of his, after all !” 
quoth the village. “ And we have been 
judging so harshly of her and of him !” 

“ I think I shall call and leave a card, 
when it’s all over, and I am about 
again,” said Mrs. Major Acre. “ That 
is, if she stops here.” 

The “ dummy drawer” was examined 
previous to the inquest, and found to con- 
tain exactly what Mr. Castonel had said, 
a phial of hartshorn and some magnesia. 
“ Which of course he was putting 
there,” was Dame Vaughan’s comment, 
“ when little Tuck caught him on the 
steps.” The drawer had evidently pos- 
sessed a secret spring, which had been 
recently wrenched away and was gone. 

The day appointed for the inquest 
dawned, and those who were connected 
with it, and those who were not, flocked 
up to the “ Hardwick Arms.” The 
strange lady was called in her turn, and 
the coroner demanded her name. 

“Lavinia Castonel. I presume my 
evidence will be dispensed with, when I 
state who I am. A wife cannot give 
evidence in matters that touch upon her 
husband.” 

The room stared. “ A coroner’s 
court is an exception,” called out a voice, 
which was drowned by the coroner’s 
“ hush.” 

“ Lavinia Castonel,” said he. “ Anv 
relation to the late Mr. Castonel ?” 

“ His wife.” 

A rising hum — a shock — almost a 


THE SIX GRAY POWDERS. 


95 


shriek. Squire Hardwick interrupted 
it, surprised out of his magisterial 
etiquette of silence in another’s court, 

“ It is impossible you can be his wife. 
You are stating what is not true.” 

“ Mr. Castonel’s wife,” she calmly 
repeated. “ His widow now.” 

Great confusion arose, and the coro- 
ner was powerless at first to repress it. 
Possibly he had his curiosity like the 
rest. Everybody was asking questions : 
one rpse high. 

“Had she married him since the 
death of the last Mrs. Castonel V* 

“ No, she had not,” she replied. “ She 
had married him before he first came to 
Ebury.” 

Higher rose the confusion. “Then 
if she was his wife, what was the posi- 
tion of the unhappy young ladies to 
whom he had given his name ?” 

“ The inquirers might settle that as 
they pleased,” she carelessly answered. 
“ It was no business of hers. She was 
his lawful wife.” 

Nothing more, touching this, could 
be got out of her. She would afford no 
further explanation, no confirmation of 
her assertion, or any details. But her 
calm, equable manner carried a convic- 
tion of its truth to half the court. The 
coroner took her evidence relating to the 
death of Mr. Castonel : it was exactly 
what she had told the two medical 
men, and the maid-servant, so far as 
she was able, confirmed it. That, at 
any rate, was truth. The jury believed 
it/ and their verdict was to the effect 
that Gervase Castonel had met his 
death at her hands, but that she was 
justified in what she had done, having 
acted in self-defence. 

So that was the ending of Mr. Cas- 
tonel and his doings in Ebury : and a 
very unsatisfactory ending it was, in 
every sense of the word. The lady and 
the maid left the place the day subse- 
quent to the inquest, and that was the 
ending of them. Numerous tales and 
rumors went abroad ; as rumors always 
do. One said the money to establish 
Mr. Castonel had been hers, not his, 
and that she dared not publicly avow 
herself to be a wife, or it would be lost 
to her : another, that he had forced her 


to submit to his apparent marriages un- 
der threats, for that he held some dread- 
ful secret of hers in his power, and she 

feared to gainsay him : another 

But why pursue these reports ? No- 
body could tell whence they originated, 
or if they were true or false. The whole 
affair remains a miserable mystery to 
Ebury, and probably ever will do so : 
and its exasperated curiosity has never 
been able to ascertain whether the three 
ill-fated young ladies did, or did not, 
die an unnatural death. 

Mr. Castonel was buried in the 
churchyard by their side, and it took 
the beadle and four subordinates an 
hour and a half to clear it of the mob, 
afterwards. And Mr. Ailsa quietly 
dropped into his old practice, and took 
on Mr. Rice and Mr. Tuck and John, 
for he found there would be work for 
all. And to the latter’s extreme discom- 
posure, he found Mrs. Muff was to be 
taken on too, and would rule him as of 
old. And since Ebury subsided into 
tranquillity, it has become a matter of 
“ good taste” there, never to breathe the 
name of Gervase Castonel. 

But though Ebury as a village never 
knew the mystery, or the full solution 
of it, Mr. Chavasse always maintained 
that Gervase Castonel and George 
Briggs were the same — which was true 
enough, probably ; for, on inquiry, it 
was found that the name of George’s 
relative was Castonel — that was on 
record ; but there it stopped. The 
only circumstance throwing any light 
on affairs, and that very little, was 
detailed in a letter from Mr. Chavasse’s 
eldest son, who had gone to America. 
He had been in Ebury often during Mr. 
Castonel’s residence there, and on one 
occasion had seen the lady who lived 
at Beech Lodge. 

“ I met a gentleman and lady the 
other evening,” he wrote, “ in society, 
by the name of Graham — Mr. and Mrs. 
Richard Graham. They both assured 
me they never had been in Ebury — 
though they are English, beyond doubt. 
The lady is as like that mysterious 
woman at Beech Lodge — well, if she 
hadn’t faced me down so calmly, I should 
say she ivas the same. In fact, I still 


96 


GERVASE CASTONEL. 


think she is. I don’t know him. I never 
saw him before. The only thing pecu- 
liar about him is a scar across his left 
wrist, which I noticed once as he raised 
his hand in conversation.” 

But what does it all matter ? The 
three young wives are dead, the babe is 


dead, the surgeon is dead. Till the 
last day we shall never probably know, 
though we may suspect. After all, he 
might have been a very innocent and 
injured man — the victim of his false 
wife and her cunning lover — this 
Gervase Castonel, surgeon. 


THE END. 


4 


DICK & FITZGERALD’S CATALOGUE. 


trices. 

Live and Learn I A Guido for all who wish to Speak and Writ* 

correctly ; particularly intended as a Book of Reference for the solution of difficulties con- 
ccted with Grammar, Composition, Punctuation, &c., &e., with explanations of Latin, 
and French words and phrases of frequent occurrence in newspapers, reviews, periodicals, 
and books in general, containing examples of one thousand mistakes, of daily occurrence', 
in speak i nr, writing and pronunciation. 216 pages, cloth, 12mo. “Live and Learn ” iw 
a most useful book, designed as a guide to grammar, composition and punctuation. So few 
people sneak or write really good grammar, and fewer still punctuate decently, that a 
book that informs them how to do so— and not only that indicates their faults, but shows 
them how they are to be corrected— cannot fail to be popular; there is not a person, in- 
deed, who might not learn something from it __ 50 

The Perfect Gentleman ; or, Etiquette and Eloquence. 

A Book of Information and Instruction for those who desire to become briiiiant and conspicu- 
ous in General Society; or at Parties, Pinners, or Popular Gatherings. Containing Model 
Speeches for all Occasions, with directions how to deliver them ; 500 Toasts and Seutiments 
for everybody, and their proper mode of introduction ; How to Use Wine at Table, with 
Rules for judging of the quality of Wine, and Rules for Carving; Etiquette, or 1 'roper Be- 
havior in Company, with an American Code of Politeness for every occasion ; Etiquette at 
Washington, Reinarkab e Wit and Conversation at Table, &c., &c. To which is added The 
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great deal of instructive and amusing matter never before published. 12mo, cloth, nearlj' 

400 pages 53 OO 


Richardson’s Monitor of Free-Masonry ; A Com. 

plete Guido to tho various Ceremonies and Routine iu Free Masons’ Lodges, Chapters, En- 
campments, Hierarchies, &c., &c. , in all the Degrees, whether Modern, Ancient, Ineffabk 
Philosophical, or Historical. Containing, also, the Signs, Tokens, Grips, Pass-words, Decora-' 
tions, Drapery, Dress, Regalia, and Jewels in each Degree. Profusely Illustrated with Ex- 
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book of 185 pages. This is the only book ever written which gives a detailed description of 
all the doin^c inside a Masonic Meeting. In this work nothing whatever is omitted that may 
tend to impart a full understanding of the principles of Masonry — the ceremonies as they aro 
(or should be) performed — the pass-words, grips, signs, tokens, emblems, drapery, dress, 
ornaments, jewels, &c., &c. In short, any Society of Masons, who wish to work in the 
higher degrees, or in any degree whatever, will find this book an invaluable aid to them 
Most of tho books ou Free-Masonry have been written by persons unable to give a clear 
description of tho ceremonies. Either they did not understand the subject fully, or else 
were careless or incompetent. We do not hesitate to say that this book gives, in the plainest 
possible language, an understandable description ol tho ceremonies in all the thirty-nine De- 
grees of Free-Masonry. No one can be puzzled iu reading it They will know precisely and 
exactly the Mysteries (so called) inside a Froe-Masons’ Lodge, without exaggeration or 
detraction. As this Is tno only book ever printed that gives these Mysteries complete and 

authentic, we expect there will be a great demand for it. Paper covers 

Bound and gi'.t • 


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Lacour on the Manufacture of Liquors, Wines, 

and Cordials, without the aid of Distillation ; also, the Manufacture of Effervescing 
Beverages and Syrups, Vinegar and Bitters. Prepared and arranged expressly for the 
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Book of Riddles and Five Hundred Home 

Amusements, containing a Choice and Curious Collection of Riddles, Charades, 
Enigmas, Debuses, Anagrams, Transpositions, Conundrums, Amusing Puzzles, Queer 
Sleights, Recreations in Arithmetic, Fireside Games, and Natural Magic, embracing En- 
tertaining Amusements in Magnetism, Chemistry, Second Sight, and Simple Recreations 
in Science for Family and Social Pastime, illustrated with Sixty Engravings. By tho 
author of •* Fireside Games,” “Book of Five Hundred Puzzles,” “Parlor Tricks with 

Cards, ’ ’ etc. Paper covers, - 35 

Bound in Boards, with Cloth back, - 38 


The Secret Out ; or, One Thousand Tricks with Cards, and 

Other Recreations. Illustrated with over Throe Hundred Engravings, and containing clear 
and comprehensive explanations how to perform, with ease, all the curious card deceptions 
and sleight-of-hand tricks extant, with an endless variety of entertaining experiments in 
drawing-room or white magic, including the celebrated science of second-sight, together 
with a choice collection of intricate and puzzling questions, amusements m chaaco, natural 
magic, &c.,&c. By tho author of “ The Sociable,” “ The Magician’s Own Book,” “ Parlor 
Theatricals,” &c. Large 12mo, cloth, gilt side and back. The great merit of “ The Secret 
Out” consists in tho very intelligible manner in which it instructs you howto do, with 
ease, what other works on the subject only mystify you about, and make you think impos- 
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DICK & FITZGERALD’S CATALOGUE. 


5 


The Sociable ; or, One Thousand and One Home Amusements. 

Containing Acting Proverbs, Dramatic Charades, Acting Charades, or Drawing-room Panto- 
mimes, Musical Burlesques, Tableaux Vivauts, Parlor Games, Games of Action, Forfeits, 
Science in Sport and Parlor Magic, and a choice collection cf curious mental and mechanical 
puzzles, &c. , illustrated with nearly 300 Engravings and Diagrams, the whole being a fund of 
never-ending entertainment. By the author of “The Magician’s Own Book.” Nearly 400 
pages, 12mo, cloth, gilt side stamp. “The Sociable; or, One Thousand and One Homo 
Ajnusements,” is a repertory of games and other entertainments, calculated for the use of 
iamily parties, the fireside circle, or those social gatherings among friends and neighbors 
which pass away the winter evenings with so much animation and delight. It is impossible 
lor any company to exhaust all the sources of irreproachable mirth and mutual enjoyment 
produced in this volume 

The Magician’s Own Book; A Complete Guide to the 

Art of Conjuring. Being a Hand-book of Parlor Magic, and containing several hundred amus- 
ing Magical, Magnetical, Electrical, and Chemical Experiments, Astonishing Transmutations, 
"Wonderful Sleigkt-of-Hand and Card Tricks, Curious and Perplexing Puzzles, Quaint and En- 
tertaining Tricks and Questions in Numbers, Secret Writing explained, Sleights and Subtleties 
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Here is the whole process made simple of manipulating the cards, and performing tricks with 
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Parlor Theatricals ; or, Winter Evenings f Entertainment . 

Containing Acting Proverbs, Dramatic Charades, Acting Charades, or Drawing-room Panto- 
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Magician’s Own Book,” “ The Secret Out,” &c. 12mo, gilt side and back, illustrated with 

descriptive engravings and diagrams 

The Book of 1,000 Tales and Amusing Adven- 

TURES. Containing over 300 Engravings and 450 pages. This is a magnificent book, and is 
crammed full of the narratives and adventures of travelers, the romantic tales of celebrated 
warriors, amusing stories in Natural History, besides a thousand things relating to curious 
tricks, entertaining sports, pastimes and games. In this capital work we have our old friend 
Peter Parley again, and he tells his stories as well as ever. The book is worth ten times 
the price we ask for it 

The Dictionary of Love. Containing a Definition of all 

the Terms used in the History of the Tender Passion , with rare quotations from the Ancient 
and Modern Poets of all Nations, together with specimens of curious model love-letters, and 
many other interesting matters appertaining to Love, never before published ; the wholo 
forming a remarkable Text-book for all Lovers, as well as a Complete Guide to Matrimony, 
and a Companion of Married Life. Translated, in part, from the French, Spanish, German, 
and Italian, with several original translations from the Greek and Latin, by Tiieocratus, 
Junior. 12mo, cloth, gilt side and back 

10,000 Wonderful Things. Comprising the Marvel- 
ous and Rare, Odd, Curious, Quaint, Eccentric, and Extraordinary, in all Ages and Nations, 
in Art, Nature, and Science, including many wonders of the World, enriched with Hundreds 
of Authentic Illustrations. Edited by Edmund Fi i.i.ingh am King, M. A., author of “Life of 
Newton,” &c., &c. 12mo, cloth, gilt side and back. In the present work, interesting 
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rences, beautiful landscapes, stupendous waterfalls, and sublime sea pieces 

That’S It ; or, Plain Teaching. By the Author of “ Inquire 

Within,” “ The Reason Why,” “ The Corner Cupboard,” “ Live and Learn,” “ The Biblical 
Reason Why,” Ac. Illustrated with over 1 .200 Wood Cuts. 12mo, cloth, gilt side and back. 
We commend to the attention of parents, teachers, and friends of popular improvement, the 
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the varied information contained in its pages. But, above all, wo desire an examination cf 
the work, without which it will be impossible to comprehend the effective system of commu- 
nicating facts, and developing ideas, and powers of observation adopted therein. There 
could be no greater mistake than to suppose “ That’s It” to be a mere “ picture-book.” 
Every illustration is employed for a purpose, or a number of purposes, and is made, by 
numerous references, explanatory of things which, without such assistance, could only be 
imperfectly conceived. The work contains nearly 400 pages, and over 1,200 wood engrav- 
ings, and forms one of the cheapest and most interesting books of elementary instruction 

v ever published 

Narratives and Adventures of Travelers in 

AFRICA. Illustrated with numerous fine Engravings, and containing a Map of Africa, on 
which the routes of Dr. Livingstone and Dr. Barth are accurately traced. Large 12mo, 
gilt back. An intense interest has recently been awakened, and widely extended, in regard 
to South Africa. Questions are, in consequence, frequently arising as to the character of its 
surface, its diversified tribes, its plants, and its animals ; and the remarkable circumstances 
nnder which, after long concealment, they have been gradually disclosed to our view. The 
object of the present volume is to meet such inquiries by popular details, on the highest 
authority, abundantly interspersed with true stories of chivalrous enterprise and heart-thrill- 
ing adventure. It respectfully solicits, therefore, the acceptance of all ranks, and of all 
ages..,, ,, ,,, , 

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DICK & FITZGERALD’S CATALOGUE. 


f 


The Lady’s Manual of Fancy Work; A complete 

Instructor in every variety of Ornamental Needle-Work; including Applique, Bead-Work, 
Berlin-Work, Braiding, Bobbin-Work, Crochet, Embroidery, Golden Tapestry, Knitting, 
Knotting, Lace- Work, Muslin-Work, French Embroidery, Netting, Orno-Work, Patch-Work, 
Point-Lace, Potichomania, Taps’o D’Auxerre, Tape-Work, Tatting, Transferring, Velvet 
Balls, Wire-Work, Shading and Coloring, Printers’ Marks, Explanatory Terms, &c., &c. 
With a list of materials and hints for their selection ; advice on making up and trimming ; 
a catalogue of articles suitable for Wed.ling, Birthday , and New Year Gifts ; and a Glossary 
of French and German terms used in neeuie-work, not to be found in any dictionary. The 
whole being a complete Lexicon of Fancy Needle-Work. By Mrs. Pullan, Editor of the 
London and Paris Gazette of Fashion, and Birector of the Work-table of Frank Leslie’s Mag- 
azine, Illustrated Magazine, &c.,&c. Illustrated with over 300 Engravings, by the best 
artists, with eight large pattern plates, elegantly printed in colors, on tinted paper. Large 
octavo, beautifully bound in fine cloth, with gilt side and back stamp. There is no imagina- 
ble species of fancy needle-work, knotting, knitting, netting, lace-work, embroidery, crochet, 
&c. , &c. , which may not he found fully illustrated in this volume ; and here are complete 
instructions for the inexperienced, from the pen of one of the ablest of needle-women of the 
present ago 

Anecdotes of Love. Being a true account of the most re- 
markable events connected with the History of love in all Ages and among all Nations. By 
Lola Moxtez, C ountess of Landsfeldt. Large 12mo, cloth. These romanntic and surprising 
anecdotes really contain all of the most tragic and comic events connected with the history of 
the tender passion among all nations and in all ages of the world. It is precisely the kind cf 
hook which a man will find it impossible to relinquish until he has read it through from the 
first to the last chapter. And besides the exciting love histories embraced in this volume, it 
really contains a great deal of valuable historic lore, which is not to he found except by read- 
ing through interminable volumes 

Arts Cf Beauty; or, Secrets of a Lady's Toilet . With Hints 

to Gentlemen on the Art of Fascinating. By Madame LolaMoxtez, Countess of Iandsfeldt. 
Cloth, gilt side. This book contains an account, in detail, of all the arts employed by the 
fashionable ladies of all the chief cities of Europe, for the purpose of developing and preserv- 
ing their charms. Independent of its rare and really useful matter, the book is a curiosity 
as a piece of art, itself, for the most belicate subjects are handled with a skill and an unex- 
ceptional propriety of language which are really surprising. This work is also full of the 
curious and useful recipes used by the beauties of Europe, and will enable our ladies to sup- 
ply their toilets, at a trifling cost, with what cannot be purchased at the porfumer’s at any 
cost 

Tile Family Aquarium. A new Pleasure for the Domes- 
tic Circle. Being a familiar and complete instructor upon the subject of the construction, fit- 
ting up, stocking, aud maintenance of the Marine and Fresh Water Aquaria, or River and 
Ocean Gardens. By II. D. Butler, Esq. 12mo, cloth, gilt side stamp. This work is a com- 
plete adaptation to American peculiarities of every species of useful information upon Marino 
and Fresh Water Aquariums, to be met with in the elaborate volumes of European authority ; 
together with a careful concentration of all the practical results of the author’s great experi- 
ence in the structure and management of Aquaria 

The 'Game of Draughts, or Checkers, Simplified 

and Explained. With practical Diagrams and Illustrations, together with a Checker-board, 
numbered and printed in red. Containing the Eighteen Standard Games, with over 200 of 
the best variations, selected from the various authors, together with many original ones 
never before published By D. Scattergood. Bound in cloth with flexible cover 

The Book of 500 Curious Puzzles. Containing a 

large collection of entertaining Taradoxes, Terplexing Deceptions in Numbers, and amusing 
Tricks in Geometry. By the author of “ The Sociable,” “ The Secret Out,” “ The Magician’s 
Own Book,” “Parlor Games,” and “ Parlor Theatricals.” Illustrated with a great variety 
of Engravings. I2mo, fancy paper cover 

The Book of Fireside G-ames ; A Repertory of Social 

Amusements. Containing an Explanation of the most Entertaining Games, suited to the 
Family Circle as a Recreation, such as : Games of Action — Games which merely require at- 
tention — Games which require Memory — Catch Games, which have for their object Tricks or 
Mystification—* Games in which an opportunity is afforded to display Gallantry, Wit, or some 
. light knowledge of certain Sciences — Amusing Forfeits — Fireside Games for Winter Evenin a 
Amusement, Ac. By the author of “The Sociable,” “The Secret Out,” Ac. Beautifully 
Illustrated. I2mo, fancy paper cover 

The American. Home Cook-Book. Containing several 

hundred excellent Recipes. The who'o based on many years’ experience of an American 
Housewife. Illustrated with Engravings. L A the Recipes in this Book aro written from 
actual experiments in Cooking. There are no copyings from theoretical cooking recipes. It 
is a book of 123 pages, and is very cheap ....... 

Copies of the above books sent to any address in the United States, free 
of postage. Send Cash orders to Dick & Fitzgerald, Publishers, FT. Y. 


Pricey 


$1 25 


1 OO 


50 


50 


3S 


25 


25 


25 


8 


DICK & FITZGERALD’S CATALOGUE. 


Ladies’ Guide to Crochet. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. 

Copiously illustrated with original and very choice designs in Crochet, etc., printed in colors, 
separate from tho letter press, on tinted paper. Also with numerous wood-cuts printed with 
tho letter press, explanatory of terms, etc. Oblong, pp. 117, beautifully bound in extra 
cloth, gilt. This is by far the best work on the subject of Crochet yet published. Thero 
aro plenty of other book3 containing Crochet patterns, but the difficulty is, they do not havo 
the necessary instructions how to work them, and arc, therefore, useless. This work, how- 
ever, supplies this much felt and glaring deficiency, and has tho terms in Crochet so clearly 
explained, that any Crochet pattern, however difficult, may be worked with ease. 

The Ladies’ Guide to Beauty. A Companion for tho 

Toilet. Containing practical advice on improving tho complexion, the hair, the hands, the 
form, the teeth, the eyes, the feet, the features, so as to insure the highest degree of perfec- 
tion of which they are susceptible. And also upwards of one hundred recipes for various 
cosmetics, oils, pomades, etc., etc., being tho result of a combination of practical and scien- 
tific skill. By Sir James Clark, Private Physician to Queen Victoria, r.oviscd and edited by 
an American Physician and Chemist. Paper 

The Ladies’ Love Oracle ; or, Counselor to the Fair Sex. 

Being a complete Fortune Teller and Interpreter to all questions upon the different events and 
situations of life, but more especially relating to all circumstances connected with Love, 
Courtship, and Marriage. By Madame Le Marchand. Illustrated cover, printed in colors. . . 

Etiquette and the Usages of Society. The Best 

and Cheapest Book of Manners. Containing tho most approved Rules for Correct Conduct in 
Social and Fashionable Life — with Hints to both Gentlemen and Ladies on Awkward and 
Vulgar Habits. Also, tho Etiquette of Love and Courtship, .Marriage Etiquette, &c. , &c. By 
H. P. Willis. A great many books have been printed on the subject of Etiquette, and cor- 
rect behavior in society, but none of them aro sufficiently comprehensive and matter-of-fact 
to suit the class of people who may be called new beginners in fashionable life. This book of 
Mr. Willis’s is entirely different from others in that respect. It explains, in a plain, common- 
sense way, precisely how to conduct yourself in every possible position in society. It gives 
particular directions about correct conduct in writing Love Letters, and in Courtship, and is 
withal tho most perfect book of Etiquette ever printed. It does not tell any long stories and 
homilies, or invent imaginary cases of bad breeding j but everything in the book relates 
specially to the subject treated of ; and you will find in it more real information than in an 

ordinary volume of two hundred pages on the subject. A book of 64 pages, paper cover 

Bound in cloth, with gilt side, and printed on fine paper, suitable for a present to a lady 

Pettengili’s Perfect Fortune-Teller and Dream 

BOOK ; or, the Art of Discerning Future Events, as practiced by Modern Seers and Astrologers. 
Being also a Key to the Hidden Mysteries of the Middle Ages. To which is added, Curious 
and Amusing Charms, Invocations, Signs, &c. , &c. By Peletlah Pettexgill, Philom.’ A book 
of 144 pages. Cloth back and pasteboard sides, illustrated. This is the most complete work 
on Fortune-Telling and Interpreting Dreams ever printed. It is compiled with great care 
from authentic authorities on Astrology, Geomancy, Chiromancy, Necromancy, Spiritual 
Philosophy, &c. , &c. , and gives full details of the manner of making predictions by means of 
those sciences. The interpretation of dreams, as hero explained, is as coinplete and perfect 
as could be made, as the results from dreams and visions calculated from certain inevitable 
rules of destiny which have been adopted by astrologers, both ancient and modern. Indeed, 
it is tho most complete and curious Book of Destiny ever printed. Everything you ca» 
think of as to fate or fortune is here explained. There has been so much trash printed on tho 
subject of Fortune-Telling, that we determined to ignore the whole of the books on the sub- 
ject, and produce one that was really authentic and valuable 

Knowlson’s Farrier, an & Complete Horse Doctor. Wo 

have printed a now and revised edition of this celebrated book, which contains Knowlson’s 
famous Recipe for the Cure of Spavin, and other new matter. This new edition is the neatest 
and most convenient one that has been issued, being a small sized book for tho pocket, and 
containing a full and complete index. There is no disease to which the Horse is liable, that 
this book does not explain and point out the mode of treatment and tho remedy. Some 
people may think that because the book is so cheap it can’t bo good for much. But they are 
mistaken. It is positively tho best book of tho kind ever Written. We sell it cheap because 
of the immense demand for it. We first printed the book sixteen years ago, and since then we 
have sold over one hundred thousand copies. The farmers and horse-keepers like it because 
it gives them plain common-sense directions how to manage their horses. We sell our new 
edition (64 pages, 18mo) at 

The Art of Conversation, with Remarks on Fashion and. 

Address. By Mrs. Maberly. This is the best book on the subject ever published. It con- 
tains nothing that is verbose or difficult to understand, but all the instructions and rules for 
conversation are given in a plain and common-sense manner, so that any one, however dull, 
can easily comprehend tham, No one, who desires to appear easy and graceful in society, 
should fail to procure a copy of this invaluable work. It contains and explains the Faults 
and Excellences in Speaking, Difficulties and Peculiarities of Speech, the Laws of Conversa- 
tion, Decencies of Speech, How to Improvo Natural Gifts, Grammatical Errors, and a hun- 
dred other matters calculated tv instruct a bashful person how to make a good figure when, 
in any society. 64 pages octavo, largo. Price 

The Chairman and Speaker’s Guide ; or, Rules for 

the Orderly Conduct of Public Meetings 

tW" Copies of the above books sent to any address in fee United States, free 
of postage. Send Cash orders to Dick & Fitzgerald, Publisher !N T . Y. 


Prices- 

75 

25 

25 


10 

25 


30 


10 


25 

10 


DICK & FITZGERALD’S CATALOGUE. 


9 


Horse-Taming by a New Method, as Practiced by J. 

S. Rarey. A Now and Improved Edition, containing Mr. Rarey’s whole Secret of Subduing 
and Bi eak ing \ icious Ilorsss, together with his Improved Plan of Managing Young Colts and 
L. caking them to tho Saddle, the Harness, and tho Sulky — with ten Engravings illustrating 
too process. Since Mr. Rarcy’s great success in England and France, ho has published in 
London a complete Manual ot IIorso-Taming on his peculiar system, and over one hundred 
luousand copies have been sold at half a crown per copy. This new edition of ours is a re- 
print of the London edition, with all the engravings, and is superior to any other book of tho 
kind printed in America. It contains, also, Pules for Purchasing a Good Horse, and New 
Pules for Feeding. Every person who keeps a horse should buy this book. It costs but a 
trifle, and you will positively find it an excellent guide in tho management of that noble 
animal. A handsome book of 64 pages. Price 

The Game of Whist : Pules, Directions, and Maxims to be 

Observed in Playing it. Containing, also, Primary Pules for Beginners, Explanations an£ 
Directions for Old Players, and the Laws of the Game — compiled from Hoylo and Mathews, 
Also, Loo, Euchre, and Poker, as now generally played— with an Explanation of Marked 
Cards, Ac. This is tho latest work on Whist Playing, and it gives minuto directions for every 
phase ot tho game. Besides Hoyle’s Laws and Rules, revised, it gives, complete, the Direc- 
tions and Maxims of Mathews, the celebrated Whist Player ; and it is probably tho best 
work on the subject that has ever been printed. Tho Directions for tho Games of Euchre, 
Loo, and Poker, aro written in plain language, so as to bo easily understood. The book con- 
tains, also, an Explanation of Marked Cards, showing how the cards aro marked by gamblers 
to cheat with, and pointing out tho marks by which they distinguish tho high cards by a 
glance at the backs of them. A neatly printed book of C4 pages. Price 

The Young Bride’s Book: an Epitome of the Social and 

Domestic Duties of Woman, as the Wife and the Mother. By Arthur Freeing. This is one of 
the best and most useful books ever issued in the cheap form. It is printed in clear and 
beautiful type, and on flno paper. Price only 

Broad Grins of the Laughing Philosopher. 

Being a Collection of Funny Jokes, Droll Incidents, and Ludicrous Pictures, that will make 
you laugh out lou l I By Pickle the Younger, otherwise called “ Little Pickle,” a youth so 
exceedingly witty as to make everybody “ snicker right out.” This book is really a good 
one, and no mistake. It is full of tho drollest and queerest incidents imaginable, interspersed 
with good jokes, quaint sayings, and funny pictures. We laughed so much when we printed 
the book, that our sides ache yet I 

The Mother’s Medical Adviser on the Diseases 

and Management of Children. With Original Recipes, and full Directions relative 
to the Rearing of Young Infants. By Thomas Wakely, M. P. , Editor of the London Lancet. 
Every Married Lady in tho United States should purchase a copy of this valuable New Work. 
64 pages 

History of the Pirates. The adventures of the Pirates, 

which aro here narrated, aro of so romantic and monstrous a nature, that they rival in detail 
the most improbable tales of fiction. The work is ono of the most exciting interest. 12mo, 
with illustrated cover. 144 pages 

The Comic English Grammar ; or, a Complete Gram- 

mar of our Language, with Cmnic Examples. Illustrated with about fifty Engravings 

The Physiology of Health : being « of the more 

important Functions of the Human Body vnth Practical Observations on their Management ; to 
which is added a Dietetical Regimen for Dyspeptics, or Comparative Nutriment of Different 
Foods and Drinks. By Jonathan Pereira, M.l). , F.R.S. , L.S. , Licentiate of tho Royal College of 
Physicians in London, &c. 64 pages 

Courtship Made Easy: or, the Art of Making Love fully 

Explained. Ccmtaining full and minute Directions for conducting a Courtship with Ladies of 
every age and position in society, and valuablo information, lor persons who desire to enter 
the marriage state, relative to Necessary Qualifications, (onditions, Attachments, Suitable 
Partners, &c. , &c. Also, Forms of Lovo Letters to be used on certain occasions By Harry 
Hazen, Junior, a widower, who has been thrice married, but is still young enough to bo an 
especial favorite with the ladies. A book of 64 pages 

Chesterfield’s Art of Letter- Writing Simplified 

A guide to Friendly, Affectionate, Polite, and Business Correspondence. Containing a largo 
Collection of the most valuablo information relative to the Art of Letter-Writing, with clear 
and complete instructions how to begin and end Correspondence, Rules for Punctuation and 
Spelling, &c., together with numerous examples of Letters and Notes on every subject of 
Epistolary intercourse, with several important hints o:i Love Letters 

Copies of the above books sent to any address in the United States, free 
postage. Send Cash orders to Dick &, Fitzgerald, Publishers, N. Y 


Prices. 

1C 

10 

12 

12 

25 

25 

12 

18 

IS 


DICK & FITZGERALD’S CATALOGUE. 


The Finger-Post to Public Business. Containing the mode 

of forming and conducting Societies, Clubs, and other organized Associations ; 
full Rules of Order for the government of their debates and business ; complete 
directions how to compose resolutions, reports, and petitions ; and the manner of 
managing Conventions, Public Meetings, Celebrations, Dinners, Barbecues, and 
Picnics ; Models of Constitutions for Lyceums, Institutes, Military and Pire Companies, 
Agricultural, Horticultural, Numismatic, Medical, Musical, Religious, Beneficial, Pine 
Art, Debating, Historical, Mutual Improvement and Temperance Societies, Mutual Aid, 
Detective, Land, Building, Cemetery, Hall and Library Associations; Political, Chess, 
Draught, Cricket, Base Ball, Gymnastic, Golf, Curling, Quoit, Shinny, Racket, Yacht, 
Rowing, Hunting and Pishing Clubs ; with rules of Cricket, Base Ball, Shinny, Quoits, 
Yachting, and Rowing, and instructions concerning incorporations. Hints about Libra- 
ries and Museums, with a Catalogue of desirable Books, and a list of American Coins ; 
and rules for the collection and preservation of Books, Mss., and objects of curiosity. 
Rules for Debating, and the composition and delivery of Public Addresses, with exam- 
ples of figures of speech, and a selection of specimens of style from various American 
orators. Together with an appendix, containing the original articles of confederation of 
the United States, the Constitution, the celebrated Virginia and Kentucky Resolutions, 
and other documents of reference. To which is prefixed a copious Index. By an Ex- 
Member of the Philadelphia Bar. 12 mo., cloth 


Retail 

Prices. 


il 00 


Fontaine’s Golden Wheel Dream-Book and Fortune-Teller 

By Felix Fontaine, Fortune-Teller and Astrologer. Being the most complete book on 
Fortune-Telling and Interpreting Dreams ever printed. The Interpretation of Dreams, 
as here explained, is as complete and perfect as could be made, as the results from dreams 
and visions calculated from certain inevitable rules of destiny which have been adopted 
by astrologers, both ancient and modern. Each Dream has the lucky number which the 
Dream signifies attached to it, and those who wish to purchase Lottery Tickets will do 
well to consult them. This book also informs you how to Tell Fortunes with the Golden 
Wheel , with Cards , Dice, and Dominoes ; how to tell future events by Psalmistry on the 
lines of the hands, by moles on the body, by the face, nails, and shape of the head ; how 
to find where to dig for water, coal, and all kinds of metals, with the celebrated Divining 
Rod ; Charms to make your Sweetheart love you, to make your Lover pop the question , 
together with Twenty Ways of Telling Fortunes on New Year’s Eve. This book contains 
144 pages, and is bound in pasteboard sides with cloth back. It is illustrated with nu- 
merous Engravings, showing how to hold the Divining Rod, how to lay out Cards when 
you Tell Fortunes, how to tell the name of your intended Wife or Husband by the charm 
of the Key and Book, etc. This book also contains a large colored Lithographic Engrav- 
ing of the Golden Wheel, which folds up. It is the cheapest on our list— - 


30 


Chesterfield’s Letter- Writer and Complete Book of 

Etiquette ; or. Concise Systematic Directions for Arranging and Writing Letters. Also. 

Model Correspondence in Friendship and Business, and a great variety of Modem Love 
Letters. If any lady or gentleman desires to know how to begin a Love Correspondence, 
this is just the book they want. If they wish to speak their minds to a tardy, a bashful, 
or a careless or indiffei’ent lover, or sweetheart, this book tells exactly how it should be 
done. This work is also a Complete Book of Etiquette. You will find more real inform- 
ation in this book than in half-a-dozen volumes of the more expensive ones. It is em- 
phatically a book for the million, and one which every young person should have, as it 
contains the Etiquette for Ladies, as well as for Gentlemen — Etiquette of Courtship and 
Marriage — Etiquette for writing Love Letters, and all that sort of thing. It is an appro- 
priate book to present to a lady. This book contains 136 pages, and is bound in paste- 
board sides, with cloth back 30 

HOW to Mix Drinks. Containing Recipes for mixing American, Eng ■ 

lish, French, German, Italian, Spanish, and Russian drinks — such as Juleps, Punches, 
Cobblers, Slings, Cocktails, &c. By Jerry Thomas, late bar-tender at the Metropolitan 
Hotel, New York, and Planters’ House, St. Louis. To which is appended a Manual for 
the manufacture of Cordials, Liquors, Fancy Syrups, &c., containing Recipes after the 
most approved methods now used in the Distillation of Liquors and Beverages, designed 
for the special use of Manufacturers and Dealers in Wines and Spirits, Grocers, Tavern- 
Keepers, and Private Families — the same being adapted to the trade of the United States 
and Canadas. By Prof. Christian Schultz, Practical Chemist, and Manufacturer of 
Wines, Liquors, Cordials, &c., from Bern, Switzerland ; the whole Work containing over 
700 Valuable Recipes. A large book, bound in cloth <§ 2 00 

Le Marchand’s Fortune-Teller and Dream-Book. A Com- 
plete interpretation to all questions upon the different events and situations of life ; but 
more especially relating to Love, Courtship, and Marriage. Containing the significations 
of all the various Dreams, together with numerous other methods of foretelling future 
events. By Madam Le March and, the celebrated Parisian Fortune-Teller 535 

The Al-Ma-Kan-Tur Circle ; or, Ilow to Win a Sweetheart or Lover . 

Containing Facts and New Discoveries never before offered to the public. Being of the 
greatest importance to both Married and Single Persons, of both sexes. By M. L. Byrn, 

M. D., Graduate of the University of the City of New York 25 

filF" Copies of the above books sent to any address in the United States* 
tree of postage. Send Cash Orders to 


DICK & FITZGERALD, 18 Ann St., N.IY. 


10 


DICK & FITZGERALD’S CATALOGUE. 


Tile Laws of Love. A Complete Code of Gallantry. Pri <** 

12mo., paper. Containing concise rules for the conduct of a courtship through its entire pro- 
gress, aphorisms of love, rules for telling the characters and dispositions of women, remedies 
for love, and an Epistolary Code 25 

G-amblers’ Tricks with. Cards Exposed and Ex- 
plained. By J. H. Green, Reformed Gambler. 12mo., paper. This work contains one 
hundred tricks with cards, explained, and shows the numerous cheats which gamblers prac- 
tice upon their unwary dupes. Tho uninitiated will stare when they here see how easily they 
can bo swindled by dealing, cutting and shuffling cards 25 

Tlie Everlasting Fortune-Teller, and Magnetic Dream 

Book. Containing tho Science of foretelling events by the Signs of the Zodiac, lists of Lucky 
and Unlucky Days, with Presages drawn therefrom ; list of Eortunato Hours ; the Art of For- 
tune Tolling by tho Lines of the Hand ; the Science of Foretelling Future Events by Moles, 

Marks, Scars, or other signs on tho skin, showing by their situation the indication they give 
of a person’s disposition, and future lot in life ; Physiognomy, or Prognostics drawn from the 
color and nature of tho Hair of Men and Women, also from their whole assemblage of features; 
the Science of Foretelling events by Cards, Dice, Domiuoes, &c. ; the Art of foretelling Future 
Events, by Charms, Spells, and Incantations, to be resorted to at certain seasons of tho year, 
by which Dreams, Tokens, and other insights into futurity may be obtained, but more par- 
ticularly with regard to Courtship and Marriage ; also, tho Magnetic. Rod, or the Science of 
Foretelling anything in tho future by Dreams 

How to Will and How to Woo. Containing Rules for 

the Etiquette of Courtship, with directions, showing how to win the favor of the Ladies, how 
to begin and end a Courtship, and how Love Letters should bo written 13 

Bridal Etiquette. A sensible Guide to the Etiquette and 

Observances of tho Marriage Ceremonies j'containing complete directions for Bridal Receptions, 
and tho necessary rules for Bridesmaids, Groomsmen, sending Cards, &c. 13 

HOW to Bella ve ; or , The Spirit of Etiquette. A Complete 

Guide to Polite Society, for Ladies and Gentlemen ; containing rules for good behavior at 
the dinner-table, in the parlor, in tho street; with important hints on introduction, aud 
tho art of conversation 13 


How to Dress with. Taste. Containing hints upon the 

harmony of colors, tho theory of contrast, the complexion, shape or height, &c. This little 
volume forms a most suitable companion for the toilet table ; and every Lady and Gentleman 
should possess a copy 

Milld Your Stops. Punctuation made plain, and Com- 
position simplified for Readers, Writers and Talkers. This little book is worth ten times the 
price asked for it, and will teach accuracy in everything, from the diction of a friendly letter 
to tho composition of a learned treatise 

Hard Words Made Easy. Rules for Pronunciation and 

Accent, with instructions how to pronounce French, Italian, German, Russian, Danish, Dutch. 
Swedish, Norwegian, and other foreign names. A capital work. “Everybody, learned or 
unlearned, should purchase this little Brochure — the only cheap guide to pronunciation.” — 

Courteney’s Dictionaryof Abbreviations: Literary, 

Scientific, Commercial, Ecclesiastical, Military, Naval, Legal, and Medical. A bonk of refer- 
ence 3,000 abbreviations — for tho solution of all literary mysteries. By Edward S. C. 

Courteney, Esq. This is a very useful book. Everybody should get a copy 

Five Hundred French. Phrases. Adapted for those 

who aspire to speak and write French correctly. The phrases hero given are selected for 
their general usefulness, and will greatly assist tho learner in his first efforts to converse in 
Frenph. Nobody should be without a copy of this useful book. 

Blunders in Behavior Corrected, a concise code 

of Deportment for both sexes. “ It will polish and refine either sex, and is Chesterfield su- 
perseded.” — Home Companion 

How to Detect Adulteration in our Daily Food 

AND DRINK. A complete analysis of the frauds and deceptions practiced upon articles of 
consumption by storekeepers and manufacturers ; with full directions to detect genuine from 
spurious, by simple and inexpensive means 

The Young Housekeeper’s Book; or, How to Have 

a Good Living upon a Small Income 

How to be Healthy. Being a complete Guide to Long 

Life. By a Retired Physician 

How to Cut and Contrive Children’s Clothes 

AT A SMALL COST. With numerous explanatory Engravings 


13 


13 


13 


13 


13 

13 


13 

13 


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Copies of the above books sent to anj address in the United States, free 
of postage. Send Cash orders to Dick & Fitzgerald, Publishers, N. Y. 


New Dime Song Books 


The Little Mac Songster. Containing a splendid collec- 
tion of entirely new and original patriotic, convivial, comic, gay and rollicking 
camp songs, interspersed with comic stump speeches, recitations, and bits of camp 
wit. All the songs in this book may be sung to popular and well known airs. 

The Tent and Forecastle Songster. Containing 

a variety of original Army, Navy, Comic, and Convivial songs, interspersed with 
Recitations, and Anecdotes of the Army and Navy. All the songs in this collec. 
tion are secured by copyright, and are published for the first time in this work. 

The Heart and Home Songster. Containing a choice 

Collection of Songs of the Affections, and embracing all the most Popular and 
Fashionable Comic, Convivial, Moral, Sentimental and Patriotic Songs. 

Bob Hart’s Plantation Songster. Being a collection 

of all the New, Fashionable, Patriotic, Ethiopian, Comic, and Humorous Songs, 
together with the celebrated stump-speech, “ Dat’s What’s de Matter,” and 
numerous comic recitations, as sung and delivered by Bob Hart, the celebrated 
Ethiopian Vocalist and Comedian. 

Touch the Elbow Songster. Containing all the New and 

Popular Patriotic Army Songs as sung by our Soldiers whilst in Camp, Bivouac or 
“ Marching Along,” embracing many Copyright Songs never before Published. 
All the songs in this book have popular and well known airs. 

The Double-Quick Comic Songster. Containing a 

Choice Selection of Comic Songs never before Published. Written by John F. 
Poole, Esq, and Sung by Tony Pastor, J. C. Stewart, T. L. Donnelly, J. Riley, Fred 
May, Sam Cowell, and others ; with the Famous Burlesque Oration, as delivered 
by H. W. Egan, “ Stick a Pin Dere.” 

Billy Birch’s Ethiopian Melodist. Being a collec- 
tion of the most popular and laughable Negro Songs, the Newest and most Fash- 
ionable Sentimental Songs, interspersed with favorite Comic Songs as sung by 
Billy Birch, Ben Cotton, J. T. Boyce, E. Bowers, and others of the renowned 
Birch’s Minstrels. 

Harrison’s New Comic Song Book. Containing 

a great variety of choice and original Humorous and Eccentric Songs, together 
with a number of Comic Speeches and Recitations as sung and given by Wm. B. 
Harrison, Comic Vocalist and Improvisatore. 

The Fireside or Singer’s Favorite Songster. 

Containing one of the best collections of New, Fashionable, and old Favorite 
Songs ever published. Every singer should have a copy of this song book. 

The Social Hour Songster. Containing a large collec- 
tion of New Comic and Convivial Songs, as sung by Tony Pastor, J. C. Stewart, 
T. L. Donnelly, J. Riley, and other celebrated Comic Singers. 

Copies of either of the above Song Boohs sent to any address, free of postage, upon receipt of 
TEN CENTS % A.ddress all orders to 

DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 18 Ann St., N. Y. 


New Dime Song Books 


Tony Pastor’s Comic & Eccentric Songster. 

Containing a choice Collection of Original, Comic and Eccentric Songs nevei 
before in print, together with Humorous Recitations, as sung and given by Ton? 
Pastor, the celebrated Clown, Stump Speaker, and Comic Vocalist. 

Tony Pastor’s Union Songster. Containing tho 

celebrated song of * ‘ The Monitor and the Merrimack , ’ ’ and over 60 others never be- 
fore published. Also, three Stump Speeches by Tony Pastor. 

The Shamrock ; or, Songs of Old Ireland. 

A choice Collection of the Sentimental, Comic, Convivial, Patriotic, and Political 
Songs of Erin. 

Harrison’s Comic Songster. Being a Collection of Rare, 

Popular and Original Songs, as sung by Harrison, the celebrated Improvisator 
and Comic Vocalist, at the various Theatres and Concerts in the United States. 

The Camp-Fire Song Book. A Collection of Jolly, 

Patriotic, Convivial, and National Songs, embracing all the popular Camp and 
Marching Songs, as sung by our army. 

The Charley O’Malley Irish Songster, con- 

taining the popular Irish Songs and Recitations, as sung and given by J. H. 
Ogden, the celebrated Irish singer. 

Fred May’s Comic Irish Songster. Containing 

the most popular Irish Songs, as sung by J. H. Ogden and Fred May. 

This book contains the words and music of the celebrated song, “ Hikes a drop of good beer." 

The Love and Sentimental Songster. Containing 

a Choice Collection of Love and Sentimental Songs. 

The Irish Boy and Yankee Girl Songster, 

Comprising the Original Songs, as sung by Mr. and Mrs. Florence, the celebrates 
Vocalists and Performers, with unbounded applause, throughout the United States. 
Also, containing a number of popular copyright songs not to be found 1 a any 
other book. 

The Frisky Irish Songster. A Collection of Gay, Rollick- 
ing, Comic, and Eccentric Songs, as sung by Fred May, the celebrated Irish 
Vocalist. 

Gus Shaw’s Comic Song and Recitation 

Book. Being a Collection of new Comic Songs and Humorous Speeches, as 
sung and given at the principal theatres in the United States by Gus Siiaw, the 
popular Comic Singer. 

Wood’s Minstrel Song Book. The best and cheapest 

Collection of Songs ever published. With numerous illustrations. Also, Funny 
Stories, Satirical Jokes, Quaint Sayings, Conundrums, Repartees, &c., as told by 
the celebrated E. Horn. 

Wood’s New Plantation Melodies. Containing' 

“Jordan is a Hard Road to Travel,” and Sixty-six other Songs and Comic Stories. 
Also, numerous new Conundrums, &c., as told by the celebrated E. Horn. 

Copies of either of the above Song Books sent to any address, free of postage, upon receipt of 
VfLN CENTS. Address all orders to 

DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 18 Ann St., H.Y. 


BOOKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED 




Mrs. Halliburton’s Troubles. A Novel. By Mrs. Henry Wood, author of 

“East Lynne,” etc. Paper Covers, 50 Cents. Cloth, 75 Cents. 

Lady Audley’s Secret. 50 Cents, paper, 75 Cents, cloth. This novel has 

caused an immense excitement in London, and will have an enormous sale here. The English 
press pronounce it to he far superior to “Tiik "Woman in W uite,” “ East Lynne,” or any of tho 
celebrated novels that have made their appearance in the literary world for the past two or three 
years, and the furore it has created threatens to make for it a sale even greater than Victor Hugo's 
Lts Miserables . 

The Castle Of Souday. a Novel. By Alexander Dumas, author of “The 

Three Guardsmen,” “ Monte-Christo,” etc. Price, 50 Cents. 

Steel Arm; or, the Robbers and Regulators of California. By 

the author of “The Regulators of Arkansas.” Price 25 Cents. 

Big G-oliath; or, the Terror of the Mines. By the author of “Steel 

Ann.” Price 25 Cents. 

The Knapsack Full of Fun; or, 1000 Rations of Laughter. 

Illustrated with over 500 Comic Engravings. Price 25 Cents. 

The Daring Deeds of Good and Bad Women. Containing the Heroic 

Achievements of Celebrated Good Women, and the Criminal Deeds of Notorious Wicked Women. 
Price 25 Cents. 

Charley Hunter ; or, the Fate of a Forger. A Thrilling story, illus- 

trated with numerous Engravings. Price 25 Cents. 

Brownie Of Bodsbeck. A Tale of Thrilling Iuterest. Price 25 Cents. 

The Three Cutters. A Sea Tale by Captain Marryatt. Price 25 Cents. 

• • 

NEW SERIES OF NOVELS ABOUT CELEBRATED 

HIGHWAYMEN AND HOUSEBREAKERS. 

*■++ 

Captain Heron ; or, the Highwayman of Tipping Forrest. Price 

25 Cents. 

Jonathan Wild’s Stratagem; or, the Highwayman’s Escape. 

Price 25 Cents. 

The Hangman of Newgate ; or, the Highwayman’s Adventure. 

Price 25 Cents. 

Tom Ripon; or, The Highwayman and Housebreaker. Price 

25 Cents. 

Claude Duval and His Companions ; or, The Race on the Road. 

Price 25 Cents. 

The Highwayman’s Ride to York ; or, The Death of Black Bess. 

Price 25 Cents. 

Blueskin Baffled ; or, The Highwayman’s Traps. Price 25 Cents. 

The above series of Novels will all be well illustrated with interesting Engravings, and 
will he issued in rapid succession. 

Copies of any of the above Books sent to any address in the United States free of postage. 
Send cash orders to 

DICK & FITZGERALD, Publishers, 18 Ann St., N.Y. 


DICK & FITZGERALD’S CATALOGUE. 


New Books Very Recently Published. 


Retail 

Prices. 


Barchester Towers- A new Novel. By Anthony Trollope, author of 

“Framely Parsonage,” “The Bertrams,” “Doctor Thorne,” “The Warden,” etc. Two 

volumes, uniform with “ The Warden.” Paper covers, each „ 

Two volumes bound in one. Cloth ... 


25 

V5 


The Warden. A Novel, By Anthony Trollope. 288 pages 

“All people who have read ‘The Warden’ — and if anybody has not read ‘ The Warden,’ 
let us counsel them to make up for lost time as soon as may be — will know very well what 
is meant by the Daily Jupiter, and by Tom Towers.” — Saturday Review. 

THE ABOVE TWO NOVELS MAKE THE FIRST THREE NUMBERS OF 

THE HAND -AJNTD POCKET LIBRARY, 

And will be speedily followed by other first class works. The Publishers propose to issue 
this Library uniform with the Tauchnitz Edition of the Works of British Authors, 
and while they promise that the paper, print, and binding shall in no particular be in- 
ferior to the Tauchnitz edition, they intend to issue each number of the Library com- 
plete within itself, at the low price of 25 cents. This will enable the reading public to 
obtain the best works of English fiction in a convenient and elegant form, at a price 
which will be within the reach of every one. 

Barren Honour. A Novel. By the author of “ Guy Livingston/' “The 

Sword and Gown,” etc. Large octavo — 

“ This is a tale of remarkable power. It displays a force of description, and a dramatic 
completedness, we have seldom seen surpassed ; in fact, it is so full of incidents, so excit- 
ing m every page, that one hardly knows how to lay it down without reading to the last 
page. Wo all remember how the first work of this author — ‘Guy Livingston’ — fell 
upon the readin.; public like a bomb-shell, and was a complete success. ‘Barren 
Honour’ will sustain his well-earned reputation.” — London Observer. 

The Royalist Daughters. By Alexander Dumas. Octavo 

This book bears the unmistakable impress of being coined in the same mint that pro- 
duced “ Monte Cristo,” and the “ Three Guardsmen.” The period chosen by the author 
is one of the most interesting in the history of modem France — when the Duchess de 
Berri (the only man, according to Napoleon, of the Bourbon family,) made her desperate 
attempt to overturn the throne of the Orleans dynasty. The twin daughters of the old 
royalist noble are two of the most interesting characters ever delineated ; their wondrous 
beauty — their sad, early history — their intrepid style of dashing after the hounds — to- 
gether with their solitary life in the ancient castle — invest them with every element of 
romantic interest. The book is rich in other marked characters, and incidents press on 
incidents with unceasing rapidity. 

The Old Judge; or, Life in a Colony. By Judge Haliburton. Author of 

“ Sam Slick in Search of a Wife,” “ Sayings and Doings of Sam Slick, Clockmaker,” etc. 
Octavo - 

The Comic English Grammar. Illustrated with over 45 Comic 

Engravings, by JohnLeech ... 


25 


50 


50 


50 

25 


Mrs. ELLEN WOOD’S Celebrated Novels. 

East Lynne ; or, The Earl's Daughter. Large octavo. Paper 

“ This is a tale of remarkable power. It displays a force of description and a dramatic 
completedness which has seldom been surpassed. The interest of the narrative intensifies 
itself to the deepest pathos. The closing scene is in the highest degree tragic, and the 
whole story exhibits unquestionable genius and originality.”— London Daily News. 

Hie Heir to Ashley. By the author of “East Lynne; or, The Earl’s 

Daughter.” Large octavo 

“ This is one of the best novels published for a season. The plot is interesting, intri- 
cate, and well carried out ; the characters are life-like, and the writing simple and natu- 
ral. There is nothing forced, nothing disjointed or unfinished about it ; no discrepancies 
in the story.” 

Castle Wafer; or, The Plain Gold Ring. By the author of “East Lynne; 

or, the Earl’s Daughter.” Large octavo - - 

G-ervase Castonel; or, The Six Grey Powders. By the author of “East 

Lynne ; or, The Earl’s Daughter,” Large octavo 

Copies of the above books sent to any address, free of postage, upon 
receipt of the price. Send Cash Orders to 

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DICK & FITZGERALD’S CATALOGUE. 


WILKIE COLLINS’ NOVELS. Ince: 

The Dead Secret. Octavo 50 

Hide and Seek. Wo have seldom read a work more thri'.lingly wrought out than this. Octavo. 50 
After Dark* One of the best books of the day . — Daily Tines. Octavo 50 

J. F. SMITH’S CELEBRATED WORKS. 

Milly Moyne ; or, Broken at Last. Large octavo, paper 50 

Philip Blandford ; or, notv to Win a Sweetheart. Largo octavo 50 

Redmond O’Neil ; or, The Substance and the Shadow. Large octavo, paper 50 

Prince Charles ; or, The Towny F retender. Largo octavo 50 

Alice Arran ; or, One Hundred Tears Ago 25 

Dick Mar kh am ; or, Smiles and Tears. Largo octavo 50 

Lillian ; or, The Adventures of an Heiress. Large octavo 75 

Harold Tracy ; or, Phases of Life. Large octavo 50 

Bella Trelawney ; 0T 1 Time Worlcs Wonders. Largo octavo ..... 50 

Charle 3 Vavasseur ; or, The Outcast Heir. Largo octavo, paper 50 

Henry De La Tour ; or, The Comrades in Arms. Largo octavo, paper 50 

Dick Tarleton ; or, Ihe Last of Ills Race. Largo octavo 25 

Marion Barnard ; or, Lessons of Life. Large octavo 50 

Pred Graham ; or, Maslcs and Faces. Largo octavo, 224 pages 50 

Romantic Incidents in the Lives of the Queens of England. By J- F. Smith. l 2 mo. 111 . $t 00 

The Virgin Queen; or, The Romance of Royalty. 8 vo, 225 pages 50 

Woman and Her Master. A Novel, containing 228 octavo pages 50 

Pred Vernon; or, The Victim of Avarice. Containing over 325 octavo pages 75 

Harry Ashton; or, Ihe Will and the Way. Beautifully Illustrated 50 

Ellen De Vere; or, The Way of the Will. Beautifully Iilustrated 50 

Pred Arden ; or, The Jesuit’s Revenge. A Novel, containing over 200 octavo page's 50 

Minnie Grey ; or, Who is the Heir. Beautifully Illustrated 215 octavo pages 50 

Gus Howard ; or, Howto Win a Wife. With Illustrations. 210 octavo pages 50 

'Rochester; or, The Merry Days of England. Beautifully Illustrated, containing 200 pages ..;... 50 

Temptation ; or, The UnJcnown Heiress 50 

Amy Lawrence; or, The Freemason's Daughter 50 

Stanfield Hall. A Romantic Historical Novel. 2 vols. , paper 1 00 

CAPTAIN JAMES GRANT’S NOVELS. 

Frank Hilton ; or, The Queen's Own. Large octavo 50 

Philip Rollo ; or. The Scottish Musqueteo's. Largo octavo, 224 pages 50 

The Yellow Frigate; or, The Two Sisters. Largo octavo 50 

Harry Ogilvie ; or, The Black Dragoons. A tale of the times cf Charles II 50 

The Adventures of an Aide-de-Camp 50 

NOVELS BY SAMUEL LOVER. 

Rory O’More. A Romance. Iilustrated. 220 octavo pages 50 

Handy Andy. One of the most humorous works ever written. Illustrated 50 

Barney O’Rierdon ; or , The Adventures of a Bashful Irishman 25 

Legends and Stories of Ireland; or, The Adventures of Paddy Mvdlowney 25 

W. H. MAXWELL’S NOVELS. 

Adventures of Captain Blake. Illustrated. 200 octavo pages 50 

The Bivouac ; or, the Rival Suitors. With beautiful Illustrations. 190 octavo pages 50 

The Adventures of Mick Costigan; or, The Ladder of Gold. Beautifully Illustrated 50 

The Matrimonial Misfortunes of Peter Clancy 50 

NOVELS BY ALEXANDER DUMAS. 

Marguerite De Valois. A Historical Romance. Largo octavo, paper 50 

Diana De Poitiers ; or, The King's Mistress. 2 largo octavo volumes X 00 

Rosa Woodviile ; or, The Jailer's Daughter. Translated by Fayette Robinson, Esq 50 

The Young Chevalier ; or, The Disputed Inheritance. Translated by Thomas Williams, Esq.. 50 

The Count of Morian ; or , Woman's Revenge 50 

Woman’s Love ; or, The Bridal Eve ; 25 

Paul J ones ; or, The Son of the Sea. A tale of the American Navy during the Revolution 25 

MISS EMEL 8 E CARLEN’S NOVELS. 

John ; ° r t Ts a Cousin in the Hand worth Two Counts in the Bush. Octavo 25 

Marie Louise ; or, The Opposite Neighbors 25 

Woman’s Life ; or, The Trials of Caprice. 212 octavo pages 50 

CSP” Copies of the above books sent to any address in the United States, freo 
of postage. Send Cash orders to Dick & Fitzgerald, Publishers, N. Y. 



Novels 

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DICK & FITZGERALD’S LIST OF POPULAR BOOKS. 


The Reason Why of General Sci- 
ence. A careful collection of some thousands of 
reasons for things, which, though generally known, 
are imperfectly understood. A book of condensed 
scientific knowledge for the million. By the author 
of “Inquire 'Within.” It is a handsome 12mo. 
volume of 356 pages, printed on fine paper, bound 
in cloth, gilt, and embellished with a large number 
of wood-cuts, illustrating the various subjects 
treated of Price 1 00 

It contains a collection and solution of Thirteen 
Hundred and Thirty-two Pacts in Science and 
Philosophy, some of which, on their first discovery, 
puzzled the most learned and apt scholars. Some 
idea may be formed of its vast usefulness, when we 
inform the reader that it has an Index of contents 
requiring 40 columns of fine type. 

The Biblical Reason Why : A Hand- 

Book for Biblical Students, and a Guide to Family 
Scripture Readings. Beautifully illustrated. Large 

12mo., cloth, gilt side and back Price 1 00 

This work gives Reasons, founded upon the Bible, 
and assigned by the most eminent Divines and Chris- 
tian Philosophers, for the great and all-absorbing 
events recorded in the History of the Bible, the Life 
of our Saviour, and the Acts of his Apostles. 

The Reason Why- Natural His- 
tory. By the author of “Inquire Within,” 
“The Biblical Reason Why,” <fcc., 12mo., cloth, 
gilt sides and back. This volume answers about 

1,500 questions - Prico 1 00 

Giving Reasons for hundreds of interesting facts 
in connection with Zoology, and throwing a light 
upon the peculiar habits and instincts of the various 
Orders of the Animal Kingdom. 

I Inquire Within for Anything you 

want to Know } or, Over 3,500 Facts for the 
People. Illustrated, 12mo., 436 large pages. Price 1 00 
“ Inquire Within” is one of the most valuable 
and extraordinary volumes ever .presented to the 
American public, and embodies nearlyybur thousand 
Facts, in most of which any person living will find 
instruction, aid, and entertainment. “Inquire With- 
in” is sold at the low price of one dollar, and yet it 
contains 436 pages of closely printed matter, and is 
handsomely and strongly bound. It is a Doctor, a 
Gardener, a Schoolmaster, a Dancing Master, an 
Artist, a Naturalist, a Modeler, a Cook, a Lawyer, 
a Surgeon, a Chess-Player, a Chemist, a Cosmetician, 
a Brewer, an Accountant, an Architect, a “ Letter- 
Writer,” a “Hoyle,” and a Universal Guide to all 
kinds of Useful and Fancy Employment, Amuse- 
ment, and Money-making. Besides all this infor- 
mation— and we have not room to give an idea of a 
hundreth part of it — it contains so many valuable 
and useful recipes, that an enumeration of them re- 
quires seventy-two columns of fine type for the index. 

The Corner Cupboard ; or, Facts for 

Everybody. By the author of “ Inquire Within,” 
“The Reason Why,” etc. Illustrated with over 
one thousand Engravings. Large 12mo.,400 pages, 

gilt side and back Price 1 00 

Embracing Facts about : — I. Things not generally 
known. II. Things that ought to bo known. III. 
Things worth knowing. The Corner Cupboard is 
a complete practical Confectioner — a complete prac- 
tical Cook — a complete Family Doctor— a complete 
practical Gardener — a complete father’s book — a 
complete mother’s book — a complete lady’s book — a 
complete gentleman’s book — a complete boy’s book 
— a complete girl’s book — a complete master’s book — 
a complete servant’s book— a complete family book. 

Morgan’s Freemasonry Exposed 

and Explained. Showing the Origin, History, 
and nature of Masonry ; its Effects on the Govern- 
ment and the Christian Religion j and containing 
a Key to all the Degrees of Freemasonry ; giving 
a clear and correct view of the manner of Confer- 
ring the Different Degrees, as practiced in all 
Lodges throughout the Globe Price 25 

How to Talk and Debate, and now to 

make a Speech, without the Sacrifice of Elegance 
and Sense. A Hand-book of Conversation and De- 
bate. — .... --....Price 1 3 

This book should be in the hands of every young 
man who desires to make a Speech, or Debate. 


The Bordeaux Wine and Liquor 

Dealers’ Guide. A Treatise on the Manufac- 
ture and Adulteration of Liquors. By a Practical 

Liquor Manufacturer. 12mo., cloth. Price 1 50 

In this work not one article in tho smallest degree 
approximating to a poison is recommended, and yet 
the book teaches how Cognac Brandy, Scotch and 
Irish Whisky, Foreign and Domestic Rum, all kinds 
of Wines, Cordials, &c., from the choicest to the 
commonest, can be imitated to that perfection, that 
the best judges cannot detect the method of manufac- 
ture, even by chemical tests of the severest character I 
The author, after telling what each liquidis composed 
of, furnishes a formula for making its exact counter- 
part — exact in everything ! Each formula is compre- 
hensive — no one can misunderstand it. The ingre- 
dients are specifically named, and the quantity 
required of each distinctly set forth. With this book 
in his hand, any dealer can* manufacture his own 
liquor, at a saving of from 506 to 600 per cent. 

Every Woman her own Lawyer. 

A private Guide in all matters of Law, of essential 
interest to women, and by the aid of which every 
female may, in whatever situation, understand her 
legal course and redress, and be her own Legal Ad- 
viser ; Containing the Laws of the different States 
relative to Marriage and Divorce, Property in Mar- 
riage, Guardians and Wards, Rights in Property 
of a Wife, Rights in Widows, False Pretenses in 
Courtship, &c. By George Bishop.. Price 1 00 

The Art Of Dancing. Historically Illus- 
trated. By Edward Ferrero. To which are added 
Hints on Etiquette — the Figures, Steps, and Neces- 
sary Instruction for the Performance of the most 
Modern Dances. Also 108 pages of Dancing Music 
for the Piano, consisting of the most Fashionable 
Quadrilles, Schottisches, Waltzes, Redo was, Pol- 
kas, and other popular fancy dances. 12mo., cloth, 
Illustrated - Price 1 00 

The Lyrics of Ireland : Embracing 

Songs of the Affections, Convivial and Comic Songs, 
Moral, Sentimental, and Satirical Songs, Patriotic 
'and Military Songs, Historical and Political Songs, 
and Miscellaneous Songs. Edited and Annotated 
by Samuel Lover, author of “ Handy Andy,” 
“Rory O’More,” “Legends and Stories of Ire- 
land,” &c. Embellished with numerous fine Illus- 
trations, designed by the first Artists, and engrav- 
ed by the celebrated Dalziel. 12mo., cloth, gilt 
side and back - Price 1 00 

Judge Halliburton’s Works. 

Sam Slick in Search of a Wife, Price 50 

Sam Slick's Nature and Human Nature, “ 50 

Sam Slick in England,. “ 50 

Sam Slick’s Sayings and Doings, “ 50 

Each of the above is also issued in cloth at 75 cents. 

Old Judge, - - -Price 50 

Gamblers’ Tricks with Cards Ex- 
posed and Explained. By J. H. Green, Re- 
formed Gambler. 12mo, paper, Price 25 

This work contains one hundred tricks with cards, 
explained, and shows the numerous cheats which 
Gamblers practice upon their unwary dupes. The 
uninitiated will stare when they here see how easily 
they can be swindled by dealing, cutting, and shuf- 
fling cards. 

The Book of Fireside Games : A 

Repertory of Social Amusements. By the author of 
“ The Sociable,” “ The Secret Out,” &c. Beauti- 
fully Illustrated. 12mo., fancy Paper cover. Price 25 
Containing an explanation of the most entertain- 
ing Games, suited to the family circle as a recreation, 
such as : games of action, games which merely re- 
quire attention, games which require memory ; catch 
games, which have for their object, tricks or mystifi- 
cation ; games in which an opportunity is afforded to 
display gallantry, wit, or some slight knowledge of 
certain sciences, amusing forfeits, fireside games for 
wintor evening amusement, etc. 

The Book of 500 Curious Puzzles. 

Containing a large collection of Entertaining Par- 
adoxes, Perplexing Deceptions in Numbers, and 
Amusing Tricks in Geometry. By the author of 
“The Sociable,” “Tho Secret Out,” “The Magi- 
cian’s Own Book,” “Parlor Games,” and “Parlor 
Theatricals.” Illustrated with a great variety of 
Engravings. 12mo, fancy paper cover Price 25 


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The Hand and Pocket Library. 

The Warden. By Anthony Trollope 25 

Barchester Towers. “ 2 vols. paper.. 50 

1 vol. cloth, 75 

The Yicar of Wakefield. 1 vol. paper 35 

The Reason Why Series. 

The Reason Why of General Science 1 00 

The Reason Why of Natural History 1 00 

The Biblical Reason Why 100 

Useful Books for the People. 

Inquire Within for Anything you Want to Know 1 00 

The Corner Cupboard ; or Facts for Everybody 1 00 

10,000 Wonderful Things 1 00 

That’s It; or, Plain Teaching, 1.200 Engravings 1 00 

Adventures in Africa 100 

The Ladies’ own Pattern Book _. 1 25 

Every Woman Her Own Lawyer 1 00 

The Ladies’ Manual of Fancy Work 1 25 

The Family Aquarium . 50 

Howto Talk and Debate 12 

The Chairman’s and Speaker’s Guide 12 

Knowlson’s Farrier 12 

Rarey’s Horse Taming 12 

Boxing Made Easy 12 

The American Home Cook Book ..25 

Courtenay’s 3,000 Abreviations ...12 

500 French Phrases 12 

The Ladies’ Guide to Crochet, 75 

Live and Learn ; or, 1,000 Mistakes in Speaking and 

Writing .50 

Mind Your Stops .12 

Hard Words made Easy - 12 

Howto Detect Adulteration 12 

How to Cut and Contrive Children’s Clothes.. 12 

Young Housekeeper’s Book 12 

Books of Games, &c M for Home Amusement. 

The Secret Out; or, 1,000 Tricks with Cards 1 00 

The Sociable; or, 1,001 Amusements 100 

The Magician’s Own Book - 1 00 

Parlor Theatricals - 75 

Book of 1 000 Tales 1 00 

The Art of Dancing - 1 00 

The Game of Checkers 38 

Book of 500 Curious Puzzles — 25 

Books of Fireside Games 25 

The Ladies Love Oracle 25 

Euchre, Whist, Loo, &c 12 

Herrmann’s Handbook of Magic 25 

Anderson’s Handbook of Magic 25 

100 Tricks with Cards 25 

Books on Etiquette and Beauty. 

The Perfect Gentleman 100 

Chesterfield’s Etiquette and Letter- Writer 30 

Etiquette. By H. P. Willis, paper 10 

“ “ “ cloth, 25 

The Art of Conversation 25 

The Young Bride’s Book 10 

Laws of Love 25 

How to Win; or Etiquette of Courtship 12 

Bridal Etiquette 12 

How to Behave 12 

Blunders in Behavior Corrected 12 

Howto Dress with Taste 12 

Arts of Beauty. By Lola Montez ..50 

Ladies’ Guide to Beauty 25 

Fortune-Tellers and Dream-Books. 

Fontaine’s Golden Wheel Fortune-Teller and Dream- 

Book 30 

Pettingill’s Perfect Fortune-Teller and Dream-Book. .30 

Le Marchand’s Fortune-Teller and Dream-Book 30 

Everlasting Fortune-Teller and Magnetic Dream-Book25 

Letter- W riter s. 

Chesterfield’s Etiquette and Letter-Writer 25 

Chesterfield’s Letter-Writing Simplified.... 12 


Humorous Books. 

Harp of 1,000 Strings - 1 25 

Dr. Valentine’s Comic Lectures, cloth 75 

“ “ “ paper covers. 50 

Dr. Valentine’s Comic Metamorphosis, cloth 75 

“ “ “ paper covers. ........ 50 

Mrs. Partington’s Carpet-Bag of Fun, cloth 75 

* “ “ paper covers 50 

Book of 1,000 Comical Stories 1 00 

Courtship and Adventures of Jonathan Homebred.. 1 00 

The Plate of Chowder 25 

Comic English Grammar 25 

Laughable Adventures of Brown, Jones and Robinson. .25 

Laughing Gas 25 

Adventures of Oscar Shanghai 25 

Courtship of Chevalier Sly-Fox-Wykoff ..25 

Charley AVhite’s Ethiopian Joke Book 12 

Black Wit and Darkey Conversations 12 

Clips from Uncle Sam’s Jack-Knife 25 

Fox’s Ethiopian Comicalities .12 

The Comical Adventures of David Dufficks 25 

Yale College Scrapes , ,...25 

The Comic Wandering Jew 1 ..25 

Broad Grins of the Laughing Philosopher 12 

Knapsack full of Fun ; or, 1,000 Rations of Laughter. .25 

New Dime Song- Books. 

Tent and Forecastle Songster -10 

Heart and Home Songster 10 

Double Quick Comic Songster 10 

Bob Hart’s Plantation Songster 10 

Billy Birch’s Ethiopian Songster 10 

Little Mac Songster 10 

Touch the Elbow Songster .....10 

Harrison’s New Comic Song Book 10 

Geo. Christy’s Essence of Old Kentucky - 10 

Tony Pastor’s Comic Songster 10 

Tony Pastor’s Union Songster 10 

The Shamrock ; or, Songs of Old Ireland 10 

Harrison’s Comic Songster 10 

The Camp-Fire Song Book — 10 

The Charley O’Malley Irish Songster 10 

Fred May’s Comic Irish Songster 10 

The Love and Sentimental Songster ..10 

The Irish Boy and Yankee Girl Songster 10 

The Frisky Irish Songster 10 

Gus Shaw’s Comic Songster 10 

Wood’s Minstrel Song Book 10 

Wood’s New Plantation Melodies .10 

Fireside and Singer’s Favorite Songster... -.10 

Convivial Songster 10 

Social Hour Songster 10 

Christy’s New Plantation Songster ...10 

Mrs. Ellen Wood’s Celebrated Novels. L 

Mrs. Haliburton’s Troubles ..50 

East Lynne ; or, The Earl’s Daughter 50 

Castle Wafer; or, The Plain Gold Ring ..50 

The Heir to Ashley 50 

Gervase Castonel ; or, The Six Grey Powders 50 

Barren Honour ..50 

Each of the above are also issued in cloth at 75 cents. 

Masonic Books. 

Morgan’s Masonry 25 

Richardson’s Masonic Monitor, cloth 50 

“ “ “ paper 30 

Books on Love and Courtship. 

Dictionary of Love .1 00 

Anecdotes of Love 100 

Courtship Made Easy 12 

Laws of Love. 25 

How to Woo and How to Win 12 

How to Win a Sweetheart or Lover ...25 

Books on Wines and Liquors. 

How to Mix Drinks, 800 Recipes 2 00 

Lacour on the Manufacture of Liquors 2 00 

Bar-Tender’s Guide 2 00 

Bordeaux Wine and Liquor Dealers Guide 2 00 


It?” Copies of cither of the above books sent to any address in the United States or Canada, free of postage. 

By Send Cash Orders to DICK & FITZGERALD, 18 Ann Street, New York. 






DICK & FITZGERALD’S 



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SSsT Booksellers, Pedlars and News Dealers will be supplied on the most reasonable terms. We will supply orders for 
any Book, no matter by whom published, at Publisher's Lowest Cash Prices. 


Capt. Jas. Grant’s Novels. 

Frank Hilton 50 

Philip Kollo 50 

The Yellow Frigate 50 

Harry Ogilvie 50 

The Adventures of an Aid-de-Camp50 

Novels by Samuel Lover. 

Handy Andy --50 

Itory 0’M.ore 50 

Treasure Trove 50 

Tom Crosbie --50 

Barney O’Rierdon 25 

Legends and Stories of Ireland 25 

The Lyrics of Ireland 1 25 

J. F. Smith’s Celebrated Works. 

Milly Moyne - -50 

Philip Blandford 50 

Redmond O’Neil 50 

Prince Charles 50 

Alice Arran -25 

Dick Markham 50 

Lillian - 75 

Harold Tracy -50 

Bella Trolawncy 50 

Charles Vavasseur 50 

Henry De La Tour 50 

Dick Tarleton 25 

Marion Barnard 50 

Fred Graham 50 

Romantic Incidents in the Lives of 

the Queens of England 1 00 

The Virgin Queen, cloth 50 

Woman and Her Master —50 

Fred Vernon 75 

Harry Ashton 50 

Ellen De Vere 50 

Fred Arden 50 

Minnie Grey 50 

Gus Howard 50 

Rochester 50 

Temptation 50 

Amy Lawrence 50 

Stanfield Hall, 2 vols 1 00 

Miscellaneous Books by Good 
Authors. 

Lady Audley’s Secret 50 

Lady Lisle 50 

Henry Lyle. By Miss Marryatt— 1 00 

Temper. By Miss Marryatt 1 00 

Which 1 The Right or The Left.... 1 25 

A Poor Fellow 1 25 

Estelle Grant 100 

The Artist’s Bride. By Emerson 

Bennett ii' 100 

The Pilgrims of Walsingham. By 

Agnes Strickland 100 

Cyrilla. By the Author of “Iuitials”50 
Craigallcn Castle. By Mrs. Gore.. 25 

Gideon Giles 50 

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Whom to Marry and How to Get 

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